The Blood of the Dragon
by WritingOutTheStorm
Summary: Beautiful Witch of the Wilds Morrigan had cared for and betrayed the Warden, Dekker Cousland…used him to further the ends of Flemeth. But events had been set in motion and Morrigan's fate sealed long before the Blight…and things were not as they seemed.
1. Chapter 1

Introduction:

SPOILERS within!

This is a different take on the Morrigan/Cousland romance from my last story, "Warden's Keep". I wanted to try some different angles, styles, and plot. I'm being intentionally cryptic in places, but all will be explained eventually. The first couple of chapters are experiments with style to give character perspectives and set up background from Origins. After that, off we go! Let me know what you think! Reviews and thoughts are welcome!

Thanks to Bioware for a great story and all involved for excellent voice acting!

**The Blood of the Dragon**

_"In Darkness eternal they searched,_  
_For those who had goaded them on,_  
_Until at last they found their prize,_  
_Their god, their betrayer:_  
_The sleeping dragon Dumat. Their taint_  
_Twisted even the false-god, and the whisperer_  
_Awoke at last, in pain and horror, and led_  
_Them to wreak havoc upon all the nations of the world:_  
_The first Blight."_

-Threnodies 8:7

**1.**

"**That Which Life Has Made Us - We Are What We Are"**

_**The Warden**_:

He used to have a sense of humor. Before all this. Before Arl Rendon Howe slaughtered his family. Before the Blight and Loghain's political intrigue had taken so many good men and women, including his brother Fergus. He used to laugh easily, and offer his own sharp wit to a conversation. But that was a long time ago, ages it seemed. It had been almost a year since his life had fallen apart at his family castle in Highever and so much had happened, he could barely remember how to smile, much less give himself over to laughter. If not for his clownish companions and the clever banter between them, he might never have allowed his lips to part in some semblance of humor. He was not dour exactly, but intense, single-minded, focused. The light-hearted playboy son of a Teyrn Dekker Cousland was gone, and the serious, grim, purposeful Grey Warden Dekker Cousland had replaced him. He had become a forceful man…not ruthless…but persuasive, and a man not to be trifled with, though his motives were honorable. He was tall with a powerful build, befitting of a warrior's years of training with his father's Guard in sword and shield. He was not classically featured, but rugged, with a strong chiseled jaw that wore a coat of stubble more often than not, as he was typically indifferent to his appearance. His thick brown hair and sideburns gave him a rough and tumble look that had the ladies sighing back in the day when he cared about such things. He'd had no shortage of women in his 28 years, but none had captured his heart, and few had intrigued him enough to spend any significant time with them. Thus, he had remained a prize for the women to win…rakish and handsome, wealthy and titled, kind and good. And back then, when he was capable…charming and witty.

A pity, he thought. To be robbed of your humor is no small thing. But in these times, he supposed, much had been lost and many had been robbed of that which they cherished. He had lost much of himself to guilt and grief after his family was murdered. In truth, he had cut himself off from his primary emotions as a self-protective measure. He guessed it was the normal reaction of a survivor of a massacre, but guilt and grief were not the emotions he would have held onto had he been given a choice. They simply were. His constant companions and the scourge of his soul. Unlike his fellow Grey Warden, Alistair, whose mentor Duncan had been slain at Ostagar, he had not grieved with tears and gnashing of teeth. He had swallowed it, and it had hardened into a bitter pit in his stomach, waiting for revenge to exorcise it from his body…from his heart. But, of course, revenge's rewards are never as sweet as they seem when first contemplated, and even though he had slain Howe and Loghain for their treachery, he still felt it deeply.

His only real respite from his pain had come from the unlikeliest source of all…Morrigan. The incredibly beautiful Witch of the Wilds…courageous, spirited and strong, yet innocent and vulnerable. Damn her. She was simultaneously the most frustrating, irritating, exasperating, enchanting, mesmerizing, intriguing woman he had ever met. She could be harsh, even ruthless at times, but soft and confused and afraid of her own feelings at other times. She was equal parts confidence and insecurity, practicality and passion, logic and chaos, cynicism and innocence - struggling to find her own way and refusing to accept help in the searching. He had come to believe she was a product of her environment…Flemeth's world, where survival and power were paramount, and emotion was anathema. What she had not experienced, she had held in contempt, quoting Flemeth's malignant philosophy as doctrine. To her, love had been a weakness, kindness a folly.

For all of himself that he had lost, his trademark infinite patience had remained intact and Morrigan had benefited highly from it. He had been fascinated by her from the start. She had a barbed tongue, certainly, but she was intelligent, clever, and bold. And different from any woman he had ever met. She seemed less difficult around him than the others, for some reason, and he had welcomed it, spending many an evening talking to her at her campfire set up well away from the main camp in her self-imposed exile. Slowly, he had fought his way inside her defenses, and she had revealed much about her horrible, deprived childhood, never recognizing the horror or deprivation of it. She simply had no reference point, no way to know that it could be different…that a child could be loved and nurtured by his family, and grow to maturity with the ability to love and nurture in return. He had felt the greatest grief and sympathy for her, though he knew she would have despised him for his pity, so he did not voice it. Most of all he had felt he began to understand her…why she thought and reacted as she did. And, eventually, he had begun to feel something besides grief, besides guilt. It was, in truth, something he had never felt before…an ache in his heart, a longing…even when he was with her. It was strange to him, and stranger still that it should involve **Morrigan**, who was so above these things, who was so intolerant of all things she considered weakness.

The Orlesian girl, Leliana, had made it plain she was interested in him, fawning over him at every turn. He could have but nodded and she would have been in his bed. But he was disinterested, as he had been in all women these last months. Except **her**.

He had not tried to define the feeling at first, thinking it better left to die on its own, an un-watered seed left to perish from neglect. But he found it would not die and, in fact, flourished, as Morrigan's demeanor softened. She became more willing to listen, more open to new ideas and ways of thinking. She began to entertain the thought that perhaps Flemeth had not been right about everything. And watching her discovery, seeing her grow, brought the first joy back into his life since Highever. And he was learning to smile again. After a time he was willing to name that which he had refused to define before…the swirling in his stomach, the sleeplessness thinking of her, the dreams of her when he did find sleep, the swelling of his heart when she smiled at him…he was in love with her. He could not tell her for fear of frightening her, so he waited for her, and nurtured the relationship, gaining her trust, and he hoped, ultimately, her love. But he knew it would be no easy feat. The walls around her heart were high and well-fortified. But he had already decided. If he could not scale them, he would knock them down.

They had finally become lovers to satisfy her carnal urges, she had said, but for him, it was more. And he thought, though she would not admit it, that she had developed feelings for him. Subtle things as time had passed…a gentle touch of his arm, the soft way she spoke his name now…no longer a demand, but a question. On occasion, he had caught her looking at him, not with lust, but…something else. A sadness tinged with longing. He was never sure what it was as she always quickly recovered when his gaze met hers, but there was something in her eyes now that he had not seen before, he was certain of it. Those eyes… golden, exotic, mysterious eyes. He had never seen the like. They captivated him. Dekker had wondered on more than one occasion if she used them to bewitch men. Morrigan was a sorceress, after all. He certainly felt bewitched, although to what end he could not imagine. She had asked for nothing, except help with Flemeth, which he had gladly given.

Morrigan had discovered through the Black Grimoire that her mother's fabled immortality stemmed from the mystical appropriation of the bodies of her "daughters" over the years, and Morrigan was sure she was the next intended victim. She was clearly unnerved and genuine in her fear. She had asked for his help in slaying Flemeth so that she might be saved. And he had not hesitated, leaving Morrigan behind to trek back to her home in the Wilds and slay the old witch. Flemeth had been cryptic and cagey with him, speaking in riddles and rhymes, never answering him directly. She enjoyed playing with him, until he grew tired of her games and declared he would end her threat to Morrigan. She had only laughed, as though he was a child challenging an ogre. "Perhaps. Perhaps not," she had said sinisterly, a vicious smile curling her lips.

He had heard the stories, and had not expected an easy time of it, but he had not anticipated her shapeshifting into a high dragon. She had nearly slain him, but after a pitched battle, he had driven his sword deep into her heart and heard her death rattle. He had returned to Morrigan with her mother's **real** Grimoire, which she hoped to study to protect herself in the future. For she feared her mother was not really dead, in spite of his insistence to the contrary. Her gratitude for his selflessness knew no bounds and he could tell she was moved by his actions.

Except for this favor she had asked of him, in truth, she had kept to herself. It was he who had sought her company out. No, she had not charmed him…at least not with any spell, he thought, unable to keep a half-smile from crossing his lips. He simply had grown to care for her.

He had seen something in her the others had not…beneath the sarcastic veneer, the veil of indifference, the cool pragmatism others viewed as callousness. There was a woman alone with little or no experience in most things, socially awkward, and defensive to cover her shortcomings. A vulnerable, insecure woman-child exploring the world around her for the first time without the malicious "parental guidance" Flemeth had provided for 24 years. She was initially a reflection of her mother's sensibilities, but as time passed, the raging conflict within her became clear to him. She feared nothing that she could fight. But she could not do battle with her confusion, she could not slay her inexperience, she could not conquer her emotions. She struggled with them and Dekker saw that she was afraid of him…and of herself. And instinctively he had wanted to help her…to save her from the life Flemeth would have her lead…from the woman her mother would have her be.

His beliefs were confirmed when she came to him that night, after the Gauntlet. They had gathered support from factions all over Ferelden to join the war against the darkspawn and the archdemon – the dwarves of Orzammar, the Dalish elves, the Circle mages. All that had remained was garnering Arl Eamon of Redcliffe's support. Hopefully, he could help sway the rest of the Bannorn nobles at the Landsmeet to unite under one leadership. But the Arl was gravely ill and they had been sent after the Ashes of Andraste, the remains of the spiritual wife of the Maker, in hopes that a small amount of the mystical relic would heal him. Dekker believed in the Maker, but this seemed wildly optimistic at best. Morrigan had just been wildly skeptical, but she had mercifully swallowed her undoubtedly lengthy list of reservations, and they had trekked to the Frostback Mountains to a small town called Haven in search of what they hoped would be the cure for Eamon. What they found was a dragon cult guarding a massive high dragon and its brood.

They were a strange bunch, these dragon cultists. They were ritualistic drinkers of dragon's blood…many driven mad from its myriad effects. As far back as the glory days of the Tevinter Imperium, they had worshipped the Old Gods. Most believed the Old Gods were gigantic dragons trapped beneath the earth ages ago by the Maker for inciting mankind to stray from the Maker's teachings and worship them. These creatures then spoke to the magisters of Tevinter in the Fade and taught them the secrets of magic - all for a promise that they would one day free the Gods from their prisons. It was at their beckoning that the magisters attempted to usurp the Maker's throne. But the Maker punished them for breaching the Golden City and turned them into the darkspawn – soulless, tainted husks. The Old God Dumat was first to be found by the darkspawn, his call reaching out to them from beneath the earth. But Dumat had not expected their taint would drive him to madness. Thus began the First Blight.

No one seemed to know what it was that drove the darkspawn in their relentless search for the sleeping Old Gods. Perhaps it was instinct or the need for vengeance upon the ones who prodded them into a foolhardy coup attempt against the Maker. Whatever the reason, when darkspawn found one of these ancient dragons, it was immediately afflicted by the taint and corrupted, leading the darkspawn in a full-scale invasion of the land. The archdemon was their leader, and a Blight would not end until the archdemon was destroyed. This was the fifth Blight upon the earth and Dekker Cousland was knee deep in it.

Members of a dragon cult lived in the same lair as a high dragon, nurturing and protecting its defenseless young. In exchange, the high dragon permitted those cultists to feast on draconic blood. That blood was said to have a number of strange long-term effects, such as enhanced strength and endurance. But there were those who went insane, who developed an insatiable bloodlust. The changes in the cultists were a form of blood magic, surely. Nevarran dragon hunters, adventurers from the country due north of Ferelden, claimed these cultists were incredibly powerful opponents.

They were right, Dekker had thought. It was a difficult battle. It had not helped that Morrigan became ill during the conflict, a high fever raging through her as they fought. He could have used her help, especially against the powerful Reavers, but she had been near the point of collapse, and useless as an ally as they cut their way through dragonlings, drakes, and cultists alike. When they had reached the mountainside lair of the high dragon the cultists protected, a creature they believed to be the risen Andraste, Morrigan had begged them not to take on the beast. They would all be needed to defeat it, and she was in no condition to fight at that moment. The Warden had agreed and they had snuck past the gargantuan dragon. He had half-carried her into the temple beyond, where he had faced his personal demons again…where the Guardian had devastated him, questioning his decision to abandon his parents, to leave them to die. And though his father's spirit had attempted to soothe him, it had only agitated his guilt.

Morrigan had approached him that night, sympathetically. "Warden?" she had asked gingerly.

He had been lost in his thoughts, brooding, as was commonplace for him since the murder of his family. But that night had been especially difficult. His wounds were reopened, his guilt re-ignited. He turned at the soft sound of her voice, "You are better, I hope? The fever has passed? You no longer seem flushed," he said with all concern, touching her forehead gently, to assure himself she was no longer ill.

She had looked disconcerted, no doubt from his display of affection. "I…I am well…you have my thanks…but I did not come to speak of my health, but yours. How fare you, Dekker? I know the Guardian's words dealt you a blow, and your father's spirit…'twas a cruel test, and I…am sorry for your pain. But you must not take it to heart. **I…we** know you for a great man…a brave warrior who knows no cowardice. From what you have told me of it, you have done nothing for which you should bear shame. Survival is not a crime. If it were, I should be a criminal many times over," she said, offering him an encouraging smile.

He could not resist a small smile in return. It warmed his heart to see her make such an effort to console…to comfort him. She was not experienced at such things, clearly, and her awkwardness only made the attempt that much more charming.

In that moment, he knew he had been right about her. She was growing, evolving, becoming a human being…she did not have to be a copy of Flemeth. She was learning to be Morrigan, and everyday would bring new and different choices, feelings, and experiences for her to embrace as her own woman, not as her mother. She could think for herself, judge for herself, feel for herself. It was up to her to decide who she wanted to be. That was all he had wished for her. He smiled broadly then, feeling better than he had in a long time.

Morrigan had responded with a brilliant smile of her own.

Dekker had given himself away then. His eyes had betrayed his feeling for her and she had begun to pull away, to tell him why she could not be with him as he wanted. He had tried to make her see she that she was not like Flemeth and was free to make her own choices…that she was capable of love, she simply had to let go of her fears and give in to it. He had seen her wavering, her hesitation, as though she wanted to believe him. And he had kissed her to convince her. They had made love. And this time it felt real, meaningful. He was sure she felt it, too. But when he told her he loved her, she had tensed. She had withdrawn from him, stopped being with him. She cut him off as though they had shared nothing. It was as though unburdening himself, saying the words, had pushed her over some invisible edge…some precipice she was standing on in her mind. And he did not understand.

_**The Witch**_:

She longed for a simpler time…for her Korcari Wilds as a child, when she had some small measure of freedom. Even if it was an illusion. Even if it was not to last. She had taken great pleasure and solace in those times away from Flemeth…from her training…when she could run free as a wolf, fly as a crow, or revel in whatever form that called to her that day. She was a gifted shapeshifter. It was exhilarating and she missed those periods of unbridled joy. She had known few such moments after the Binding, and most of them had been given to her by the Warden. He had provided her with an escape from her fate, if only for a few hours of her life…hours that she would always remember. She wondered what it would have been like with him…to stay, to be part of his life. She thought they made a strong team in battle. She admired his prowess…his courage. But more than that, he had been good to her in a way that no one had ever been. He cared about her well-being, her opinions, her wishes. He listened and did not judge, though she knew he did not agree on many topics. He was kind to her and asked for nothing in return. This concept was foreign to her. 'Twas not something Flemeth had prepared her for…this charity…this giving without expectation. But even when he gave her gifts, and over time there were many, he had grinned and given them just to give them, to make her happy. It confused her.

She had talked to him of many things since she had met him. He was easy to converse with and encouraging and she found herself telling him things she had told no other. She had told him about the beloved mirror that she had stolen as a child that Flemeth had smashed. She had been punished severely…not for the theft, but for being drawn to such baubles…for forgetting that power and survival were all important. It was a pivotal moment in her life…one in which the lessons of frivolous weaknesses were driven home to her. From that day forth, she had not allowed herself to entertain such foolish notions. The Warden had found a mirror exactly like it and given it to her with such a joyful look on his face. His generosity had stunned her. She was moved by the gesture. He had made a point to give this to her, knowing its meaning. She had let him in then…just a little, but enough. A crack in her façade. She had allowed herself the small weakness of finding him an exceptional man, in spite of her mother's teaching. Those values he possessed that Flemeth would scoff at…kindness, generosity, honesty…she found she admired in him more every day. 'Twas confusing.

The Warden had shown her respect…treated her as an equal. She was an apostate - reviled by some, feared by others. Yet he showed no fear, felt no revulsion. Dekker saw to it she was treated as an equal member of the party, not as an outlaw to the Ferelden state, not as the hunted quarry of the Chantry Templars. While he believed in the Maker, the Warden did not approve of the Chantry's methods, the treatment of mages in Ferelden. He found it unacceptable that mages were subject to such measures as imprisonment and Tranquility and death for not submitting to the will of the Chantry, the will of the Circle. It was inexcusable that the mere presence of their magical gifts forced them into a life on the end of a tether or worse. In truth, 'twas one of the reasons she hated the Circle mages so, for submitting to their bondage so easily without a fight. How could anyone **knowingly** give up their freedom? Willingly accept the shackles? Perhaps her bitterness was because she'd had no choice. Because she had been tricked into it by her mother. Because she would never again know such freedom. She did not know. But she knew she was grateful for the Warden's attitudes, for his tolerance, for his acceptance of her.

She was drawn to his personal power, initially. From the first moment she saw him looking for the Grey Warden treaties in the Wilds, she had sensed it. He was above the others. His striking presence was commanding even then, as a novice before the Joining. It had intrigued her. She could not have imagined then that **he** would be the one that Flemeth would choose to pluck from the jaws of death and bring back to set her plan into motion. Her mother rarely included her in the details of her schemes…revealing her distrust…one of many slaps Flemeth had given her over the years, both emotional and physical. But when Flemeth announced that she would be leaving with these Wardens, it had surprised her. She was not prepared…she thought she had more time…before her life as she knew it ended, before she fulfilled her purpose.

She had made it a point to distance herself from the rest of the party, setting up her camp well away from the main group. She would make no friends here, 'twas not her purpose nor her desire. And she had tried desperately to keep things on a casual level with the Warden even when they had begun a physical relationship. But he had developed feelings for her and she had been unable to control her own emotions, confused as they were. He was compelling to her. He commanded her respect, certainly, but there was something else. She should have been more critical of him…he made many decisions she would not have, he said and did things that would not have occurred to her, he showed kindness where she would have been indifferent. Flemeth had taught her these things were weaknesses for fools, but she could not reconcile that with her image of the Warden. He knew the consequences of every action and still did not shirk from that which he thought was right. She was confused by the Warden's moral compass, yet unwilling to dismiss him. Morrigan had spent a great deal of time considering that which the Warden had done and said, and she had come to admire the man greatly…another unforeseen turn of events. And in the end, she had found herself unexpectedly entangled emotionally.

He was darker than she had anticipated. Brooding. But 'twas not a darkness born of malice. His darkness spawned from pain. He was haunted by his past, the tragedy that had befallen him. He spoke not of it for a time, but suffered in silence. She knew of the events in passing, overheard from the others. She had wondered at it, for it seemed his only weakness. But the way he bore up, she found she could not fault his handling of it, even at the beginning, when it was in her nature to find fault with everything that smacked of weakness, of feeling, of superfluous emotion. They had talked of many things at her fire at night, but his reluctance to speak of his pain was surely due to her pronounced lack of patience in such matters, her inability to commiserate. He had not asked for pity and she had offered none. But as time passed…as she came to know him, she found that his pain had begun to be her pain. She had little experience with it, and her mother would surely have railed at her for the feeling of it, but she could not help it. He was a wounded animal that as a child she would have healed, if possible, or put out of its misery if not. For that was the only kinship she had ever felt, that with animals…with the wolf pack or the flock. But that was before Flemeth had punished the compassion out of her. Or so she thought. In truth, she wanted to heal the Warden. She did not wish for him to hurt, and knowing the outcome of their relationship made it all the more difficult, for she knew she intended to compound his pain, to re-injure him, and hated herself for it.

When he had at last told her of his self-loathing…of his grief, she had not berated him, but extended herself and offered support and encouragement. It had been strange for her to do so, and she knew it to be awkward, as she was not accustomed to such expression. But he had been visibly relieved and grateful for her attempt. And it had given her no small measure of satisfaction to bring him solace, however little. For a time he had seemed better, stronger, less introspective. But then had come the Guardian and his accursed tests of faith.

Morrigan knew the Maker existed. She had seen the ancient texts…she knew the truth of it. But she took pleasure in pretending otherwise, arguing against the facts with great passion, as though she really believed it. 'Twas only to frustrate the Orlesian girl…a small measure of revenge for Leliana's constantly cloying, feminine assault on Dekker while he was seeing **her**. All attempts to warn the girl off had failed, so Morrigan had fumed and glared and made her struggle to convert the apostate to the Chantry doctrine. In truth, 'twas not the Maker Morrigan took issue with, but the Chantry, with their morally superior tone too often followed by a morally inferior action. And, of course, the fact that she was an apostate…a hunted animal…did not endear her to them.

Dekker, too, believed in the Maker. The Maker would know this, Morrigan reasoned with all logic and practicality. There was no point in torturing the Warden with his damning memories…in reviving his self-hatred. Dekker had withdrawn from them all after the Guardian, and she had gone to him to try to pull him back. But somehow, unexpectedly, the conversation had turned to their relationship.

She had tried to ease his burden and thought she had succeeded. But then he looked at her with such longing, allowing his feelings to show in his eyes. It frightened her. What she saw on his face was not desire, but something far more dangerous for her. Something she was not prepared to accept, something she could not cope with, that she knew could never be. "Do not gaze at me thus," she had said plaintively, "I cannot give you what you want, what you ask for. I cannot…I am not…like other women. 'Tis not in me."

A sad smile spread across his features. "It **is** in you. It is not in Flemeth, but you are not Flemeth. You are Morrigan, you go where you want and do what you like, you are your own woman. Is it not so?" he had asked.

His words had chilled her.

"You are capable of so much more than your mother. She was wrong about so many things. Surely you must see that now. You don't have to **be** Flemeth. I killed her for you, so you could be free of her, free to be who you wish to be," he'd said gently.

If he only knew the truth, she thought. I will never be free.

"It **is** in you, it's in your heart. You have only to stop fighting it, and give yourself over to it. Let go of your fear, Morrigan, let me in," the Warden had said softly.

She wanted to know at that moment…if it was in her. This…love…that she knew nothing about. She had known confusion and distress and longing. She had known sleeplessness and no appetite. She had known anxiety and a sense of dependency which she had despised as weakness. But she had also known warmth and security, comfort and desire and… something else…strange and vague feelings she had no experience with that made her heart beat wildly. She should have stopped him then, but felt powerless to do so…because she wanted it, too. Because her time with him was growing short.

He had kissed her then…an impossibly passionate kiss that left her breathless. They had made love. And it was not like before. It was more than physical. It was intense and fiery. And he had spoken the words she had dreaded and longed for…the words she had wanted and feared…the words that would change everything.

"I love you, Morrigan," Dekker whispered, brushing a wisp of her hair back off her face.

She swallowed hard and winced, both grateful for his admission and grieved he had voiced it. For she could no longer continue as they had, lovers with no ties.

"No, Dekker, you cannot say such things to me. I cannot hear them. You…do not know what…you should not have spoken so…" she had said, shaking her head. She had pushed him away then. She had to end it, for both their sakes. Because she had no wish to hurt him any more than she had to, and because she had discovered that it **was** in her.


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

"**Choices"**

_"'Tis not the choices we make that define us, but the reasons we make them. 'Tis not the what, but the why."_

-Unknown

_**His:**_

He had no choice. What choice did she leave him? To sire a child with her? Then destroy its soul? Replace it with an Ancient Being? The archdemon's essence? Ask him to kill his offspring with his sword…it was the same. There was no difference. Either way, his child…their child…would no longer exist. He could not accept what she proposed. His child, he thought bitterly. He would not exchange his life for his child's. And he would not risk unleashing another Blight on the world by leaving the archdemon's essence alive, no matter how much Morrigan assured him it would not be corrupt. He bore enough guilt, he would invite no more.

And she would be gone…no matter what he did, she would be gone. This was no choice. Did their time together mean so little? Did **he** mean so little? Of course…he meant nothing. She was leaving no matter what he did. No matter what. He loved her. And now he questioned that…why? Who was this woman? Where was the Morrigan that had softened, the one he had gotten through to, the one he had fallen in love with that was vulnerable and searching? This was Flemeth's Morrigan, harsh and cold and demanding. Maybe that's all she ever really was. Was **his** Morrigan a myth, an illusion she conjured up to make him bed her...to make him…love her? How could she change overnight like this if it was not in her all along? If she had not been playing him all along? If her kisses were not false, if her glistening golden eyes were not a trap to lure him in with their cry for rescue, with their promise of more?

No. That was his anger talking. She had seemed torn, even then. Conflicted about her decision, but adamant that she would proceed at all costs…even if their future together was the price to be paid. She was steadfast in pursuit of her goal, unyielding, unwilling to listen to him, to hear him…to stay with him. Why? Why was she so insistent on going through with this? It was not about her mother. Flemeth was gone…at least for now. It was something else…something more pressing…something more than a lust for power. She had said she cared for him, but this was important to her, something she MUST do. He had seen the anxiety on her face when she talked about caring for him. That it was something she had not planned on, she had not wanted. But she couldn't let what she felt interfere with what she **must** do. What she **must** do. That was the part that plagued him, the part he couldn't seem to make fit with his angry image of her reverting to her old ways, the power-mad ways of Flemeth. She seemed to feel she **had** to do it. The fact that it could save his life made her more determined to do it. But why did she **have** to do it? What was so damn compelling that she would leave him after admitting she cared for him? That was more important than her self-confessed feeling for him, knowing, as she did, that he loved her? He had asked her if he would ever see her again. Her voice broke slightly, betraying her. He would never see her again, she had vowed, but she had promised to leave immediately if he did not agree to her terms, stating flatly that was how it must be. How it **must** be.

He had rejected her offer and she had left, angrily, seemingly hurt. He had tried to stop her. He told her again how he felt… that it didn't have to be this way…that he loved her. But she would not say she loved him. She had only looked at him sadly…tormented…as though he was but a child who understood nothing, and answered, "Yes, but not enough." What did that mean? Surely she didn't think that if he loved her more, he would agree to this. It was not **about** love. He didn't understand. And she had looked at him as though he didn't…as though he couldn't **possibly** understand. What was going on? What had she not told him? Damn it! She didn't want to leave…he could see it in her eyes. But she **had** to. For some unknown reason, she had to. But even as she left, he thought her eyes pleaded, "Rescue me!" Isn't that what he saw before she shapeshifted into a white wolf and disappeared from his life? None of it made any sense. He could not have done as she asked. His conscience would not let him. No, the choice was made for him. So there was really no choice at all.

_**Hers**_

She had no choice. 'Twas pre-ordained, decided when the darkspawn had woken the archdemon. Although, in truth, her fate was sealed years ago, when Flemeth made her drink as a child. Morrigan's eyes were exotic, golden, mesmerizing. But they were green before she drank…normal. She had seen them in the beloved golden mirror her mother had smashed. She knew. And it was not just her eyes that had been affected. Her strength, her endurance, her aggressiveness. The Warden had admired her ferocity in battle, but he would not have if he had known. The Binding had changed her in unmistakable ways. And it had shackled her to them for the rest of her life.

Flemeth had undergone the Binding countless years ago, after the death of her lover, Osen…after she murdered her husband, Bann Conobar Elstan and fled back to the Wilds, an abomination. She had bound herself to them…to the cause.

'Twas only now the archdemon awoke. 'Twas only now He called to them to free Him, to release Him from his maddened husk, to let him be born again as He was, apart from the Taint, but in a new form…that of a man. When He first began to speak to them in their dreams…in the Fade, she and Flemeth understood. The ancient texts had been preserved through the ages. She was expected to read them. The language was known to her. And because she drank, she heard.

She did not wish to leave the Warden. She had become entangled with him in a way she had not been with a man before, in a way she had not thought possible. He made her feel…but what foolishness! Even if she had not drunk and was not bound, she was an apostate. There was no future with a man like him. He was a great hero, a man to be reckoned with…a…good man. She was not like him. She knew not of the things that were important to him...she had no experience with any of it. He had tried to show her, to teach her his way…that all was not as Flemeth portrayed. And for a time she had embraced it, as she had finally embraced him. She had allowed herself the luxury of pretending she had a choice. She had let herself experience what it could be like with him…to believe what he was telling her. That she could be something more than Flemeth's pawn. She had allowed herself to feel things she shouldn't have, to be something she could never be. They would not let her. They would never let her. She had been chosen and could not change her fate. It was her destiny. It was Urthemiel's.

She knew the Warden cared for her and she had not wished to hurt him, but 'twas unavoidable. She had told him what she could to make him understand, to lessen the pain. But she could not tell him everything. She **would** not tell him everything. He would never know who she was…**what** she was.

She had no choice, because they waited. Because He waited. If things were different…but such talk was nonsense. Wishes and hopes…weakness and folly. There was only what was. And she **must** do this. Her personal desires were of no import. Her blood burned when she acted otherwise. She had contemplated abandoning the plan…not asking him, knowing what he would say, that he would reject her offer. But she wanted him to live…and she felt the warning signs of disobedience, the fiery burning in her veins that reminded her who she was really bound to, so she had returned after fleeing the Warden. And she had approached Riordan. It had to be done. For her, for Dekker. Even if she had not valued her own life, she valued his. It had been simple enough to bewitch Riordan. He had been giving her bold glances since they had arrived in Denerim. His desire was plain. After the others had fallen asleep, she had flown into his room performed the ritual, and seduced him. She would not force the Warden…she would not bewitch him in order to be with him and conceive the child. There would be consequences for going to another, but she would pay them. She would not force Dekker. And she would not lay with that fool Alistair, so the seed had come from Riordan, the Orlesian Grey Warden.

Flemeth had committed her long ago to this life… and more recently, to this deed. They owned her. She was a slave to them. No matter how much she pretended otherwise, she was not at liberty to make her own decisions, to lead her own life. She had boasted to the Warden that she did what she liked, went where she liked. But 'twas not true. The words rang false in her head even as she spoke them. She was simply allowed a small measure of freedom when she was not needed. It was her right. Her position granted her that. But, in truth, it was only an illusion of freedom. Now, she **was** needed. And the illusion was smashed. She would never know any freedom again. Only servitude. She was bound forever with no hope of escape. Unless, the Warden…no, it was too much to hope for, and wishes and hopes were for others. She had no hope. No, the choice was made for her. So there was really no choice at all.


	3. Chapter 3

**3.**

"**Aftermath – Endings and Beginnings"**

_"I will not be broken by tragedy and sorrow, for life is but a cycle and every ending a new beginning."_

-Unknown Philosopher 1:14 Glory

Morrigan was at Denerim when the archdemon went down. She took out as many darkspawn as she could, and waited for the moment when Flemeth's plan would come to fruition. She saw the father of her unborn child fall to his death when the dragon flung him off mid-flight and felt a twinge of sadness. She did not know the man, really, but he was not just a donor for the life of an Old God. Riordan was a brave warrior, which she found admirable, but she hoped he would also be the reason her Warden would live after he slew the dragon. And for that, she was grateful.

The Warden had seen her there, though she had sworn to him he would not if he refused her offer. She had tried to fight in the shadows, out of his line of sight, but the darkspawn were many and the battle had maneuvered her into the open. He had started towards her then, whether to embrace her or kill her for going to the Orlesian she had not known. But the archdemon had landed between them at that moment, demanding the Warden's immediate attention, and he had slain it, fulfilling the destiny she had been tied to by Flemeth.

Morrigan had gone down when Urthemiel took possession of the seed, crumpling in agony. She had looked up to see that the Warden had not fallen, and smiled through her pain. He lived because of her. Because she had gone to another. It was worth it, then. All that she had done, all that she would have to do. It would all be worth it because he had lived when he should have died. She could not regret that she had done it, knowing the outcome, but she felt sorrow for the hurt she had caused him. Dekker had looked dumbfounded when she fell for no apparent reason, and then…realization. He had tried to make his way to her, but she was already gone by the time he arrived.

When Morrigan left Denerim, she traveled south. Perhaps in another life she would have gone west to Orlais. She had heard of the opulence, the splendor of the capital city Val Royeaux, and would've liked to see it for herself. She imagined she could have offered her services to the young Empress Celene as an expert on the darkspawn. But that was another life. In this one, she had no options. She was bound to go south…south of her beloved Korcari Wilds, into the sparsely inhabited Uncharted Territories, to the lonely coast where they waited. To an abandoned cliff-side manor on an obscure rocky bluff overlooking the sea. Above the hidden seaside cave of the brood.

She dare not take animal form for fear of harming the child she felt growing rapidly within her…for fear of the consequences of damaging the Old God's vessel. And in truth she preferred to take her time making her way back. She showed no great haste, dragging out the inevitable…her return to bondage.

She pulled out the spirit charge ring she had found at the shop in Denerim before the city had burned…before the archdemon and darkspawn had razed the shop to the ground. Morrigan had been fortunate to find one. They were unusual. After searching every stall, every merchant she had come across for weeks, she had finally found one. In truth, it was a pleasant piece, in a beautiful filigree setting. Morrigan had an eye for jewelry and would have liked this ring even if she had not considered it vital to her survival.

Ever since she had learned of Flemeth's plan, Morrigan had known she would have to find a way to save herself should her mother return. She had been unable to find any spell or potion to prevent her body from being stolen, so a spirit charge and the Warden were all she could think of. A spirit charge looked much like any other opal, but had magical properties…the ability to store the consciousness…the soul of a being. Part of her soul was already bound to the Warden's ring…the ring she had given him to form the unbreakable bond they shared that allowed her to find him. It had been a simple matter to tie the two rings together to foster the necessary communication between them should it be needed...and she was certain it would. Flemeth was not dead. Morrigan could feel it. Her mother **would** return and try to take her form, 'twas only a matter of when. And Flemeth would likely succeed, given Morrigan's failure to find a way to protect herself. But if she could not prevent her mother from taking her body, perhaps she could turn Flemeth's own game against her. If she could save her soul from destruction when Flemeth took her form, then perhaps with the Warden's help, she could steal it back. And this time, Flemeth's body would be gone. With no form to escape to and no spirit charge, her mother's spirit would dissipate and she would be destroyed.

The ring was her insurance against Flemeth's return. She would wear the stone at all times and should her mother come for her, she could cast her soul into the charge in the moment before Flemeth took her body.

Morrigan knew Flemeth. She was vindictive and spiteful. She would not allow the Warden to go unscathed after he had tried to kill her. Her mother would surely seek revenge and when she did, Morrigan could warn him. She would have awareness of that around the ring, and the magic of the charge would enhance the connection between the rings. If her ring was near enough to the Warden's, her essence would be strong enough to communicate through their bond and he would be able to hear her. And…if he did not hate her…perhaps he would be willing to help her escape the ring and regain her form.

But there remained a problem…and it was no small thing. The greatest obstacle of all was the fact that she did not have the spell that would release her from the ring…that would allow her to reclaim her body. It was old magic, unique to the spirit charge, and the knowledge was thought to have been lost many years ago. But Morrigan believed it still existed in written form…she simply had to find it. 'Twould be no easy feat, but she would scour the Thedan mage libraries until she found it. The last known copy was said to be north of Ferelden, but where, she did not know. She would need the Warden's help to search for it…if he was willing. Her fate hung by the slimmest of threads, she knew, but she was desperate, and there was no more time to search for an answer now. Her time was up. She had to return.

* * *

Morrigan had given it to him to keep him safe, to allow the party to find him if they should get separated somehow. He was too important to the war effort. They could not afford to lose him. All these things she had told him. And he did not doubt the truth of it. But it was her awkwardness, her uncharacteristic shyness in giving it to him that told him her real motivation for the gift. She had begun to worry for him…to care for him. And while she would not admit it, he had been touched…and encouraged by her offering. The ring was a twisted loop of rosewood. Its grain seemed to shift and change from one moment to the next, taking on shapes reminiscent of animals and people. He smiled, thinking it matched Morrigan perfectly - wild and unpredictable, impossible to define, impossible to pin down.

He had hoped to use it to find her, but his efforts to reverse its intended use were thwarted. All he ever got from it was a sense of her. The ring issued a faint glow that accompanied his sensation - a feeling that he was sure was her emotion. Sorrow…regret. It was difficult to describe, but he knew it was her. And even though it was not often, it fairly killed him to feel her as though she were next to him, and not know where she was…not be able to go to her. He would not give up. If he could not use the ring, he would try to track her himself…a daunting task, but one he was compelled to undertake.

He would not travel as a Grey Warden. He did not know what his path held and he did not wish to involve the Order or abuse the goodwill of Queen Anora in his personal crusade. Whatever happened hence forth was the result of a man on a quest for himself.

He had seen to it Anora was allowed to remain Queen after Cailan's death. He had spoken at length with her and believed she had the country's best interests at heart. However angry he was at her father's treachery, he was convinced she had played no part in it, as was evidenced by her imprisonment by Arl Howe at the behest of Loghain. She was well-loved by the people and it was known to most that she had ruled the country wisely and efficiently while King Cailan played his war games and acted the spoiled child. Alistair was the last of the Theirin blood line, however illegitimately. But he had no desire to rule. Frankly, Alistair was a good Grey Warden, but as a king? Well, Alistair was a good Grey Warden.

Anora had struggled with the Warden's decision to execute Loghain for his crimes at the Landsmeet, but she understood, and did not condone her father's actions. She was simply a daughter who had loved her father and remembered him for the war hero he had been in years past. Dekker did not begrudge her those memories. The whole affair had been a tragedy for the country. They would all need time to heal.

He had become friends with Anora over the last few months. She had asked much of him in rebuilding the country and he had complied. She had offered him great rewards for what he had done for Ferelden. But he had declined them all. He asked only one thing of the Queen…that Morrigan be given special dispensation in view of her services to her country…that she no longer be considered an apostate…that she be forever free of the fugitive label the Chantry and the Templars had placed on her. And that Anora would work with the Chantry and the Circle to repeal the harsh treatment of mages in the country…to judge them for their actions not for their abilities, to eliminate the concept of apostates. There were more humane ways to approach the issues and he asked for all parties to try. The Queen was of like mind on this issue and had been for some time. No one could deny the Warden had done much for the country…indeed, for Thedas. All were in peril from a Blight, from Ferelden to Par Vollen, Orlais to Rivain. Darkspawn knew no borders. Now, with the Warden's renown, and the gratitude of both the Chantry and the Circle at their peaks, Anora saw an opportunity to make progress. She granted the Warden's request for Morrigan and began dialogues with the Chantry and the Circle to improve their handling of mage-related matters. And in spite of his humility in refusing any reward for himself, Anora granted him the lands and title of the Howes. It was little consolation for the slaughter of his family at their hands, but she believed they had forfeited their rights. Dekker Cousland was now the Teyrn of Highever and the Arl of Amaranthine.

The Warden was ecstatic that Morrigan was free. He knew that being an apostate had been part of what had driven her away…that she'd felt they had no chance. She had made mention of it frequently...the effect it had had on her life. The perennial hiding…the running from Templars and witch hunters as a child. No more, he thought. She would never again know the fear of being hunted for simply commanding magic. He had to find her…to tell her…to convince her that, in spite of everything, he still wanted to be with her. And now, it was possible.

He did not know what he expected to find if he caught up with her. She had bewitched Riordan and lay with the Orlesian Warden, ostensibly to conceive this God-child. It had angered and crushed him when Riordan admitted it to him before his death in the fall from the archdemon's flight, but Dekker had turned her away. Morrigan had begged him and he had refused. It had hurt him deeply that she had followed through with her threat to seek out another Warden after his rejection of her offer. But she had told him she would if she had to, though she wanted to be with him. Again, the nagging thought that something beyond his knowledge was compelling her to do this act bothered him. And she could have bewitched **him**,but chose not to…a fact he could not ignore. She had respected him enough not to force him against his express wishes, and for that, he was grateful. As time had passed, he had become less angry, less hurt, and more apprehensive for her. He felt more and more as though she felt trapped into doing the deed, forced to go through with it. And he could not stand that thought. He had to find her. He had to know the truth. He had to understand why. And…maybe there was still hope. For he could not shake his feelings for her. He had vascillated between anger and hurt, confusion and resentment…but through it all, he still loved her. And he vowed to find her, whether she wanted to be found or not.

* * *

He searched in vain for a time, sometimes feeling her in the ring… her grief and loneliness matched only by his own. For seven months, he avoided his duties as a Grey Warden, shirked his responsibilities in Highever, and ignored his fealty to the Queen to look for her. He scoured the countryside looking for any sign, any trace. He spoke to people in every village, every hamlet, and every farm he came across. It was as though she had been swallowed up by the earth. She had not wanted to be found, she had not wanted him to follow, and she had disappeared. Finally, the reality of his situation began to sink in. The chance of him ever finding her like this was almost nonexistent. With a leaden heart he turned at last back to Denerim to retake his position in the new order, as Grey Warden Commander, a title he had temporarily bestowed on Alistair in his absence.

* * *

"I am sorry for you, Dekker," Anora said sadly. "I had hoped, for your sake, after all you went through to gain her freedom…to help her…that you would succeed in finding her." She had genuinely wished he could find happiness. So few Fereldans knew such a feeling anymore. It was a time of rebuilding, of taking stock, of grieving for what was lost…for the Queen as much as any of her subjects. New alliances were being forged, and there was a general feeling in Thedas that all would need to be more cooperative and vigilant to prevent such devastation from ever happening again. They were all caught off-guard, and the bickering and politics, the arrogance and pride of their respective nations and factions had nearly done them in. If not for the Warden and his intrepid band of followers, the darkspawn might have won the day with the archdemon at their head. No, they would not be caught so unprepared again, if Anora had any say in the matter.

"I would like you to go to Amaranthine, and establish a new order of Grey Wardens there at Vigil's Keep," she said. "Alistair will stay at Warden's Keep and command the Wardens there. I do not feel it wise after…the massacre at Ostagar…" Anora paused, guilt coursing through her for her father's treachery…the heinous act that had led to the slaughter of hundreds of good men and women, soldiers and Wardens alike, and that of the King, her husband Cailan.

The Warden sensed her misplaced guilt and said softly, "It wasn't your fault."

"He was my father. I should have seen the signs sooner. I could have stopped him…maybe…I could have helped him," Anora said, her voiced choked with emotion.

"No. Loghain was a great man once, but you couldn't stop what happened. He had you imprisoned when you tried. It was unfortunate for all of us. But it was **his** path, not yours. Do not take the blame for not being able to block his road, my Queen," the Warden said earnestly.

Anora looked at him gratefully. "Thank you for your kind words, for your understanding. I know the great loss you have suffered at my father's hand and I am truly sorry. You are an exceptional man, Warden, and I hope you will continue to serve Ferelden as ably as you have in the past. We need men like you desperately. As to Amaranthine, I do not feel it wise to amass all of Ferelden's Wardens in one place. Many are volunteering now, in spite of the risks which you made public. There is a sense of need for men and women like you, Warden. I know you do not wish it so, but you **are** a hero to this nation, indeed to all of Thedas. And there are others who wish to serve, to prevent this tragedy from ever happening again. I need you to take command of the main force at Amaranthine, to build the order there. Will you do this for me? I know your heart is heavy, but you are needed. I will not command you. If you should choose to go home to Highever, I will understand. You have already served your country far above that which could have been asked of you," she finished.

The Warden nodded. "I would be honored to serve you, my Queen," he said, bowing his head. What difference would it make where he grieved? he thought. At least he would stay busy doing what he could to help rebuild Ferelden. As for Morrigan, he would not give up, but he would have to find another way. He had to.


	4. Chapter 4

**4.**

"**Rude Awakenings"**

"The blood is the key. The blood is always the key."

- The Architect 9:31 Dragon Age

The Warden headed to Vigil's Keep, soon to be the new home of the Grey Wardens in Amaranthine. He met a recruit candidate en route, a warrior named Mhairi. They traveled to the Keep together, but when they arrived, the Warden was stunned to find the fortress had been overrun by darkspawn. Most of the soldiers stationed there were dead and none of the Grey Wardens had survived. He and Mhairi cut down the straggler darkspawn until they reached the commander of the force. The Warden was stunned to learn this darkspawn could speak and was interrogating the seneschal. The darkspawn were sentient? Intelligent? Capable of thought and speech now? It was a shocking development. The only darkspawn he had ever encountered were soulless, mindless husks. What did it mean? Why were some of them able to speak and think on their own now? It might explain why they did not go to ground as expected after the archdemon was destroyed. He had never heard or seen such a thing, but there was no mistaking that this darkspawn engaged him in conversation, revealing himself as 'The Withered' and that his goal was to capture the Warden and destroy the Keep. The Warden defeated him, but it raised more questions than it answered.

He rounded up the survivors of the onslaught to take stock. One of them was a rogue mage named Anders…an apostate the Templars were after. He was a rebel who had escaped several times from the Circle, and had every intention of trying again should he be captured. He was a good-natured fellow, if not something of a rake and a scoundrel, and a powerful mage. The Warden feared he would end up dead or Tranquil if he returned the man to the custody of the Templars. They were already accusing him of the murder of his Templar guards, which he abjectly denied. He insistently attributed their deaths to darkspawn. The Grey Wardens here had been wiped out by the darkspawn attack, so Dekker conscripted him into the Wardens to save him from the Chantry. In truth, he felt a twinge of Morrigan in Anders' situation - an apostate on the run…hunted for what he could do, not what he had done. This the Warden could not abide by, so he gave the mage a chance to prove himself, to redeem himself from the cavalier lifestyle he had led and to save himself from the fate of an apostate. Anders jumped at the opportunity to get out from under the oppressive yoke of the Circle and Chantry.

The Warden had also run into Oghren, who, it turned out, was anxious to become a Grey Warden himself. He had married his old girlfriend Felsi, and they had a child, but after a falling out and a booting out, the dwarf had begun to question whether he was not better suited to battle than family life. The Warden thought that he secretly hoped to impress his wife.

Anders and Oghren survived the Joining, but unfortunately, poor Mhairi did not. He left the survivors to rebuild the Keep and set out for the Wending Woods to investigate the attacks on the merchant caravans there. The supply lines were being cut, and the war against the darkspawn demanded the trade routes remain open. They could not afford to have the flow of supplies interrupted.

When he arrived in the Woods, he found the attacks on the merchants were being perpetrated by an elven mage, a woman who held humans responsible for the kidnap of her sister. She had threatened to continue her attacks until her sister was returned. She was a shapeshifter named Velanna, with a great control of nature, able to command the great sylvanwood trees of the forest to attack travelers, to enlist the aid of animals, and cause great roots to erupt from the ground to entangle their prey.

Velanna had been the first to her Dalish clan's Keeper. She was proud and angry and bitter at humankind for centuries of elven suffering at human hands, as far back as 981 Ancient Times when the Tevinter Imperium Magisters performed a terrible blood magic ritual that sank the legendary elven city of Arlathan into the earth, destroying the magnificent kingdom and enslaving the few who survived. Since that time, elves had experienced an endless cycle of war, slavery, and wandering. All incited by humanity. When humans attacked them and tried to burn them out of the forest, Velanna had wanted to retaliate against them, but her Keeper had forbid it. Velanna had called the leader a coward and been sent into exile with a handful of followers that also wished to pursue the retribution she had to have. Those who followed her had perished. Her sister, Seranni, had been kidnapped, and Velanna fought alone against what she thought to be human oppression. Seranni had only accompanied her to try to dissuade her from her vengeance and Velanna was stricken with guilt, blaming herself for her sister's capture.

The Warden investigated her claims and discovered that these intelligent darkspawn had implicated humans in the kidnapping they had committed. After convincing Velanna of the truth of it, he persuaded her to join the Wardens, so she could pursue the whereabouts of her sister.

Anders seemed smitten with the elven mage from the start, flirting constantly, though the Warden thought it was something of a game to him initially, to annoy the abrasive elf. And she seemed to enjoy the repartee, though she would never admit it. But over time, as with Morrigan, Velanna had begun to be less angry…less bitter and more vulnerable…more regretful of her actions. And he thought, Anders was **playing** at liking her less and **actually** liking her more.

They had a competition over fireballs of all things. Mage jealousy, he thought, bemused. Dekker remembered one such conversation.

"My fireballs are bigger than yours," Velanna had taunted Anders in the midst of a rather lackluster battle.

"It's not the size that counts, Velanna," Anders chided her, his comment laden with double entendre.

"Did they tell you that in your Circle? They were trying not to hurt your feelings," Velanna had said, making sport of him, as he usually did with her.

Anders retorted sardonically, "The Circle lied to me? Andraste's sword, my world is falling apart! I have been unmanned!"

Velanna issued a massive ball of flame from her staff, as if to prove her point.

Oghren shouted, "By the Stone! Watch it, elf! That one was a little too close!" He hopped around swatting at his unintentionally singed behind. "I'm on the soddin' front lines, ya know! When you lob those fireballs, take it easy! Try aimin'! Of course, if you're tryin' to light my fire, just say so…I can think of better ways…heh! heh!" he offered suggestively.

"Ugh! NO!" Velanna said, "I am…NO…I do not wish to light your…ugh! Why did you have to put that picture in my head?" she said grimacing. "Keep a civil tongue in your head, dwarf, lest you find my aim much improved next time, and your arse not all that is singed. I suspect all that orange hair on your face, not to mention your back undoubtedly, would be quite flammable," she snapped.

"Ooohh…sassy! But quit your flirtin'! I'm a married man! But I do love a girl with a fiery temper! Heh! I said 'fiery' temper! By the Stone, I'm a soddin' funny man!" Oghren laughed to himself.

They quickly dispatched their prey.

Anders had hesitated…studying Velanna for a moment before asking as casually as he could, "Perhaps one day we could sit down to discuss magic? You can help me improve my fireballs."

"What would that accomplish? I have no interest in your fireballs," she had said indifferently.

"Lots? Great civilizations are built on the sharing of ideas…on cooperation and people working together," Anders said.

Velanna smirked. "Sharing? You mean stealing, of course. Followed by crushing those you stole from. Yes, many great civilizations were built on the blood, sweat, and bones of the unfortunate who toiled in chains," she'd answered bitterly.

Anders sighed. "You know that chip on your shoulder? I think it has replaced your head," he had said in disgust.

Velanna was stung, though she decided to let it pass, for she seemed to have no wish to engage in a conversation about her anger. She tried to bring him back into his usual jovial exchange. "You're sure you are not just after the secret of my giant fireballs?" she asked gamely.

Anders had not been talking about fireballs, Dekker knew. He had been trying to reach out to Velanna, trying to get her to sit down with him one-on-one, but the moment had passed. Anders had retreated to his usual witty banter. "Damn! I am caught! 'Twas all about the fireballs. I'll make you a deal then. You teach me how to make great balls o' fire, and I'll teach you my Spell of…Intoxication," he promised.

Velanna eyed him skeptically. "Let me guess…your 'Spell of Intoxication' involves alcohol, and lots of it," she said, onto his prank.

"Well, yes, that's a key ingredient to make the spell work, but it works every time! Of course, the actual amount of the key ingredient you need is different, depending on the subject. Some people just have a higher resistance to magic than others," he teased.

"And why, if such a thing actually existed, which I am sure it does not, would I ever **need** a 'Spell of Intoxication'? Velanna asked, trying to trip him up.

"Alc…my Spell of Intoxication is a proven method of making prisoners talk. Loose lips sink ships, ya know. Just think…you have some talking darkspawn in custody and no one can get anything out of him. But **you **step in, use your Spell of Intoxication, and a bit of brew to wash it down with and before you know it….presto! You have all the war plans of their army and you know where the next archdemon is. You'll be a heroine, really. I can make that happen for you. I'm just sayin'. I'd do that for you," he said, arms folded, as though offering her the next 'Heroine of Ferelden' title.

"I think I'll just hang on to my secret fireball formula, thanks just the same," Velanna answered smugly, bemused by his attempts to worm her secrets out of her.

"Very well, but don't come crawling to me next time you need someone intoxicated. My spell is off the market," he said folding his arms, knowing the game was up.

"My loss, certainly," Velanna said wryly.

"As long as you understand that," Anders responded amicably.

The Warden discovered they were caught up in a civil war between the darkspawn. The leader of one side, the Architect, claimed to be the first of the sapient darkspawn, a freak among his own kind. He had taken Seranni, but much to Velanna's chagrin, she was now his ally, believing in his cause. Using the blood of already dead Grey Wardens, he wished to "awaken" the darkspawn …make them sentient, and turn them away from their blind answering of the call of the Old Gods. Ostensibly, his goal was to end the Blights, to prevent the Taint from contaminating the Old Gods and turning them into archdemons. But sometimes the awakening inexplicably caused madness in those he was trying to help. One of those was "Mother", a broodmother who had gone insane when she was awoken. Bitter about the loss of the "sweet song" of the Old Gods' call, she felt deprived, and was rallying the darkspawn who were not yet sentient against the Architect.

Dekker headed for Amaranthine to begin the planned assault on the darkspawn, but when he arrived, he found the city had nearly been destroyed. When the Architect's Disciple showed up at Amaranthine, they were given a decision to make. The Architect had sent The Messenger to warn the Warden that Mother was moving against Vigil's Keep to destroy it. But there were straggler darkspawn bands about, and the Warden feared for the survivors he knew must still exist within the city. His dilemma was terrible – to go back and try to save his comrades at the Keep, or rescue the remaining civilians in Amaranthine. In the end, he knew he had to save the innocents…the ones who had no ability to save themselves.

"The Keep will hold. It must hold until we can return. I have had it fortified, and I believe that it will stand. We must save those that survive in the city…those that cannot defend themselves. The Keep is manned by soldiers and Wardens…men and women prepared for war that know their duty. They would have it no other way," he said resolutely.

The Messenger was beside himself. "But the Mother…she attacks the Keep. We must go stop her!"

"No. Our duty is here first," he replied.

With that, the Warden turned and headed back into the city to free it of the remaining darkspawn that threatened it. "If your story is true, Messenger, then you will help me rid the city of your enemies and you will fight at my side," Dekker said.

The Messenger nodded, resigned to the Warden's command.

Dekker could only hope that the Keep held, as he had said. The burden of command was great, but if he lost the many good men and women at the Keep, it would be massive.

The party made short work of the darkspawn at Amaranthine and, as it turned out, had saved many survivors who had blockaded themselves into the Chantry. The city was salvaged, even in its state of ruin. Dekker knew he had made the right decision, but the sense of dread for the Keep loomed over him.

The Warden made frantic haste to return to the Keep in hopes there was something left to be saved. He saw the smoke before he saw the fortress itself and feared the worst. But as he cleared the rise, he saw with relief that the Keep still stood, though there were sporadic fires ablaze within its walls. The siege was still underway, the darkspawn surrounding the great fortress, though in far lesser numbers, it appeared, than when they had begun. He felt great pride seeing the many darkspawn dead that littered the plains around the Keep…his people had responded well.

The Warden and his party fought their way to a hidden entrance beneath the Keep, a tunnel that gave them access to the fortress. Once inside, the Warden took command again, and in spite of heavy losses, they were able to drive back the Mother's forces, through clever combat tactics and an assault aimed directly at the Disciple generals that controlled the darkspawn. Once the leaders were eliminated, the rank and file darkspawn became disoriented…scattering in confusion and fleeing the battlefield. The Keep had held and the darkspawn were defeated…for now. The Warden did not doubt they would return if he did not act.

The Architect had sought the Warden's help to end the Mother's bid to destroy them all. It appeared now that the Architect had been telling the truth…assuming he, himself, had not engineered the attack on Vigil's Keep to manipulate the Warden. Dekker was not sure whether he should believe the sentient darkspawn's story, but the Disciple the Architect had sent to warn them of Mother's attack on Vigil's Keep **had** helped him clear Amaranthine of his rival darkspawn brethren and saved the survivors. In truth, Dekker had to go with his gut instinct, and his gut told him that the Architect was not lying. And even if he was, if Dekker could use him to help eliminate a darkspawn faction, that was just less darkspawn. So, the Warden marched to Drake's Fall to the Mother's lair. When he confronted her, the Warden learned, much to his dismay, that the Architect had been responsible for the Blight of Urthemiel…that it had been the Architect who had woken the Old God and tainted Him, turning Him into the archdemon that Dekker had slain. But the Architect's sorrow was evident, as was his grief at the condition of Mother. He offered his assistance to defeat the Mother, but the Grey Warden and his party dispatched her.

The Architect kept his word and gathered the remaining darkspawn and they went to ground. He vowed to continue to try to free his people from their chains…the curse of the Maker. And in spite of Velanna's pleas, Seranni went with him, believing she could help. The Warden had the uneasy feeling he had not seen the last of the darkspawn, but for the moment, it was cause for rejoicing.

He didn't mean to. It just happened. Morrigan had hated weakness. And the Warden had just succumbed to it. He didn't instigate it, but he gave in to it. And he was just as guilty of it.

Dekker had had too much to drink. They were celebrating the darkspawn defeat, and Oghren had lifted one too many tankards of ale to the Warden's health…and to the Warden's fortune…and to the Warden's continued success…and to the Warden's long life. Before he realized it, Oghren's toasts and taunts had nearly done him in. Damn Oghren and his infinite ability to hold his liquor! He should have known better than to accept a drinking challenge from the perpetually inebriated dwarf. Though in truth, if he was being honest with himself, he was looking for forgetfulness that night. Just one night where he didn't have to think about her. He knew he couldn't out drink Oghren. He had only accepted the bet to give him a reason to drink more than he should…to interrupt the endless stream of Morrigan that sauntered through his head. To shut down his brain and end the ache it was sending to his heart. To bring some small measure of peace…if only for a few hours. Just a few hours.

She was so like Morrigan in many ways…a child of nature, smart, obstinate, fiery…but with a layer underneath that was softer. She even wore her blond hair in the same style as Morrigan. Maker's Breath! How was he supposed to forget her?

He found talking to her made him feel less lonely. It was an odd thing. She was clearly a surrogate for Morrigan in his mind. And it was unfair to her. She had a personality in her own right. But like Morrigan when he first met her, Velanna had been so harsh. She had been given reason to hate humans and she was bitter and blind to her generalization at first. But the Warden had helped her see the error of her ways, and she had softened, become more approachable, though it was not his intent to approach her…in fact, she had approached him in an effort to console him in his grief. But he had given himself over.

If he was another man, he would rationalize it…excuse it. But he could not. In truth, he was not married. Morrigan had left him after taking another man to her bed. She had told him never to follow. There was no reason he should not find another, be with another. Except that he loved her and he did not want anyone else. He felt bound to her in a way he could never be to anyone else. And so, he felt guilty. As if he had betrayed her. But she was no longer with him to be betrayed. And he had only betrayed her memory. It was foolish, he knew, but he could not escape the feeling.

Velanna found him staring out the window of the Warden-Commander's office at the Keep. "May I speak with you, Warden?" she asked gingerly.

He nodded.

"I know you are upset. I…feel I must apologize. I…you have helped me. You have been a…friend to me. Last night…I thought…I was being one to you. I sought to console you. You have grieved for this woman as long as I have known you…and well before that, if I am to understand correctly. I had hoped to make things better, but it seems I have made them worse. I hope you will forgive me. 'Twas not my intent to injure you further. I hold great respect for you. I would like to…remain friends, if that is possible," Velanna said earnestly.

Dekker shook his head, "It's not your fault, it's mine. I know you were just trying to help. I should have stopped it. I shouldn't have let myself get into that condition in the first place."

He heaved a great sigh that moved her.

"Maybe I can help in another way. Would you like to…tell me about her? Perhaps if you talked about it, it would ease your pain," Velanna said.

Dekker looked at her. He thought perhaps she might be right. Once he began, it all came tumbling out. He told her everything…and gained a measure of relief in doing so.

By the time he finished, Velanna understood his grief. And she thought she might finally have found a way to repay him for all he had done for her. "Will you let me see the ring Morrigan gave you?" she asked gently.

Dekker hesitated. It had not been off his finger since she had given it to him…and though it was rare, he still lived for the moments when he felt her in it.

Velanna smiled. "I am not being clear. I think I may be able to alter the ring so that you may find her," she said.

The Warden's jaw dropped and his eyes welled. He looked down at the ring and swallowing hard, pulled it off his finger and gave it to the elven mage.

Velanna realized from the look on his face that she held his hope in her hands now. She would not dash it, she vowed to herself.


	5. Chapter 5

**5.**

"**Burning For You"**

_"One wonders at the loyalty of these cultists…what it is that keeps them from ever abandoning their charges…even those who succumb to the madness. For there is no record of betrayal, no known recanting of faith, no retractions of oaths. These might be the most devoted worshippers of any known religion, if it can be called such."_

-Brother Tranis, Chantry scholar, 9:20 Dragon.

Dekker followed the ring's direction as it glowed, silently thanking Velanna with every step...and silently cursing himself for sleeping with her. He would have to tell Morrigan at some point…when the time was right. He dreaded it, but he had tried to impart to her the importance of the truth between two people that cared about each other, and he could not justify keeping it from her…if she cared about it at all anymore. **That** he would not know until he found her.

The ring led him ever southward. At first he thought she might have returned to her Korcari Wilds, but he quickly realized she had continued beyond. Was she wandering? Where was she headed? He moved southeast where no maps charted…toward the coast.

His trail ended at an old manor house. It looked abandoned, broken shutters hanging, fence falling down, overgrown with weeds. The whole place seemed in need of repair. For that matter, what was a place like this doing out in the middle of nowhere? Some eccentric craving privacy must have built this place, for it was far from the nearest town.

But his ring indicated this direction, and beyond this bluff was only the sea. She had to be here! His heart beat faster. Had he found her finally? His stomach knotted up as he banged on the door. No answer. The Warden would not accept it. He banged again, louder, more insistently. At last, the door slowly swung open, revealing a strange bearded, wild-eyed man. Dekker felt his instincts go on alert.

"Yes?" the man said, curtly.

"I…I'm looking for a woman…beautiful, dark-haired, 26 years old, golden eyes. Her name is Morrigan. Is she…staying here?" the Warden asked tentatively.

"No, there is no woman like that here," the man said, and began to swing the door shut.

Dekker slapped his hand on the door to keep it open. "I'm sure she's here. I'd like to speak to her," he said forcefully, his voice intimidating. Then he made himself relax. "I mean her no harm, but I would speak to her and I will not leave until I do," he said seriously.

The man hesitated one millisecond too long before responding, "She is not here. Go away." He slammed the door shut.

The Warden was alarmed now. The man knew Morrigan. Even if the ring had not told him, the man's eyes flitted about nervously…guiltily. She was here. It was possible that he was covering for her. That she did not wish to see him and had asked the man to send him away. But the Warden had no intention of giving up now. He had come too far, had waited too long to see her. He pretended to leave and doubled back around behind the house hoping for a way in. It was sealed tight. There was something odd about this place…something he could not define.

And then he saw her…far below the bluff on the beach. He was sure it was her, though she wore a robe of some kind and her long, dark hair was down. She was staring pensively out over the sea, her silky hair whipping about wildly in the breeze. Two armed men stood a few feet behind her, their hands on their weapons, watching her. Was she a prisoner here? He stood mesmerized, his heart pounding out of his chest…watching her…remembering what it had been like between them before the ultimatum. She turned finally, and pulled her hair back up as he had known it. It was as though she had given her hair a moment's freedom in the wind before binding it up again. She walked slowly, almost reluctantly, back towards the cliff. The men followed a few paces behind. He supposed there was a path up to the house there, though he could not see it. He could not take his eyes off her and it wasn't until she disappeared from view beneath the overhanging cliff that his legs found movement. He turned and raced along the bluff looking for a way down, a path of some sort, hoping to meet her on the way up, and if he needed to, eliminate the armed men. When he found a trail, he nearly fell down it he was running so fast, so recklessly, loose rocks flying as he stumbled his way down to the beach. But when he got there, she was nowhere to be found. He had seen no other path, and he now stood directly under the manor house on the bluff. But Morrigan was gone. Had she taken bird form and flown back to the house? He had seen no evidence of shapeshifting, no flash. And he was certain she had not seen him…that he had not frightened her off. And the two men were gone, as well. So where…?

He recreated her movements until he had lost sight of her and found himself facing the cliff wall, piled high with rock. He studied it for a moment, perplexed. Then he realized he felt a cool draft. It was a warm day, and the sea breeze that accompanied it was balmy. This air was cold and damp…and had an earthy smell. Of course, a cave! He stepped closer to the wall and after inspection realized there was a mechanism hidden behind the boulders. He slid between the rocks and activated it. A rock pulled back revealing a doorway. The Warden's eyes narrowed. What was going on? Something told him he might need his weapons at the ready, so he quietly unsheathed his sword, pulling his shield off his back. He advanced slowly into the cave lit by torches on the walls. Had he stumbled onto a bandits' hideout?

Suddenly, two men came charging out of the dark passages on either side of him, flailing wildly with club and sword, screaming at the top of their lungs. The Warden dispatched them quickly and prepared for more. He fought his way through several more poorly skilled men before reaching a gigantic chamber.

He heard a thundering shriek and looked to the far side of the cave and saw it…a high dragon on the ledge…the largest he had seen, besides Flemeth. Immediately, he was beset by a mob of men and women, drakes and dragonlings. Dragon cult! He slashed out wildly, rolled and ducked, blocked and smashed. But there were too many of them. He would soon be overcome by the ferocity with which they flung themselves at him without regard for their safety.

"Enough! Lay down your arms!" Morrigan shouted over the din of battle. She had seen him. Tears welled in her eyes. By the Gods, he had found her! He had come for her! Why? To kill her? Because he still…no, it must surely be happenstance. He was an adventurer, a Grey Warden roaming the countryside slaying darkspawn where he found them, helping those who needed him along the way. **She** needed him. The thought flashed through her head even as she dismissed it. It surprised her to have even thought it after all this time.

"Stop!" she shouted again. But the battle was pitched, and she was not heard. Finally, she did the unthinkable. Her hands crackled with the buildup of electricity and she unleashed a massive arc of lightning on her own followers, carving a path to him.

"I said enough! Cease your fighting! I am to be obeyed!" Morrigan repeated with a gravity that made it clear she was not to be ignored. The cultists fell away then, stunned by her attack, but heads bowed in deference, understanding her orders were inviolate. She stood rooted to the ground for a few moments…uncharacteristically afraid. Not of what he would do to her, but of what he would say.

He would surely know what she had done now. That she had gone to Riordan, that she had lain with him, conceived a child with him. She took a deep breath and walked toward him, her heart in her throat, wondering if when she got there, he would bury a dagger in it. She opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her at first.

The Warden was equally incapable of speech. She was more beautiful than he remembered, though she now wore a red and black ceremonial robe of some sort, which clearly distinguished her from the others. And the way she commanded them…all this time he had searched, all this time…and when he found her, she was the leader of a dragon cult? He was at a complete loss.

Finally, she stammered, "Why…why have you come? What do you seek?"

"I…I don't know anymore…" he said, unable to keep the emotion out of his voice.

Morrigan winced. 'Twas apparent he had come for **her**. And she saw from the haunted look in his eyes it was because he still cared for her. But seeing her here, like this, he had faltered. She nodded. Of course, he would be repulsed by all this…by her role in it. He could not know she was as much a prisoner as a high priestess. No matter. She was trapped here. She could no more go with him now than she could undo all the damage she had done to him.

"You must go. Now," Morrigan said, matter-of-factly, intent that the young God not see him, not know he was here. She would accept the consequences of her betrayal later, after he was gone…after he was safe.

"What are you doing here? Why are you with these people? Surely you don't think this is what you want? By the Maker, Morrigan!" he snapped, still unable to believe she was a part of this.

"Warden, you must leave. I cannot keep them at bay long. 'Tis not important why I am here or what I do. 'Tis no concern of yours. I told you before not to follow me. Our…time together was over long ago. It…meant nothing. 'Twas but a physical gratification. You must accept this. Now please, go!" she said brusquely, trying to force him out.

He frowned. She seemed very anxious to get rid of him. Her concern to see him leave belied her attempted coolness. "Morrigan, tell me the truth. Why are you here?"

Perhaps he would not leave any other way. She would tell him the truth and see him flee in disgust. And she would be devastated. But he would be spared. "Because I am one of them. Because I **am** them. I always have been and I always will be. The blood of the Dragon runs in me, and I will forever belong to them," she said, her eyes shining.

He recoiled, his subconscious reacting to her words.

The pain on her face was unmistakable, though she tried to hide it.

"I…you…drank the blood?" he said incredulously, trying not to sound as horrified as he felt.

She turned away. "Go now," she said, her voice unsteady.

He stood for a moment, unsure what he wanted now…what he knew, what he understood. He turned to leave, then he spun back around and turned her to him. Tears were streaming down her face. "Morrigan…" he whispered, shaking his head.

A child walked in. The cultists all bowed and dropped to one knee, parting for him. But the child was too old to be the God, clearly 6 or 7 years of age from the look of him, the Warden thought. It had only been a little under two years since he had last seen her…the child should be an infant still. The Warden didn't understand and turned to Morrigan for an explanation. The fear in her eyes was palpable. He could not know her fear was for him.

"How can this be Riordan's child? It should still be an infant," he whispered.

"He grows rapidly to adulthood. I do not pretend to understand. I was with child but two cycles of the moon," she responded absent-mindedly. Her mind raced, trying to think of a way to get him out now. She knew Urthemiel would not be predisposed to letting him go.

"You are the human that sired me?" the child God asked, in a preternatural voice.

"No," he said tersely.

"Ah yes, forgive me, my faculties are not yet fully developed. You are the one the human mother **wishes** had sired me. You were the lover…the intended father, the one she almost threw away her life for," the child God said.

Morrigan inhaled sharply at the truth of the declaration and a pain shot through her. She fought back the tears.

The Warden swallowed hard. "What do you mean?"

"Disobedience is not tolerated, even from a high priestess. She knew that. She has been…re-educated," Urthemiel said, "Though she is fortunate I need her. Such second chances are rare. You and she were the Chosen Ones, the ones selected to bring about the God in human form. She failed in her primary task. Since you would not cooperate and she was unwilling to bewitch you, she was forced to seek out one of the other Wardens, a lesser man. No matter. I am born anew. I **am**. And she has been duly punished. But the priestess lives now by my largesse. Her power is useful to me. You defeated my other priestess, the old sorceress, for the moment, Warden, but I have need of her daughter, now."

The Warden was stunned. She was forced to seek out Riordan? How could that be? Urthemiel was still in the archdemon then. How…? He had never seen her afraid of anything…except her feelings. But she felt forced to go through with this madness. He still didn't understand. And the old sorceress? Maker's Breath! Flemeth! She was part of this cult, too? Suddenly, it all began to fit. Flemeth and Morrigan had planned it all along. Flemeth sent the young witch with him to seduce him, to sire this God's body because they were dragon worshippers. The Old Gods were giant dragons, after all, imprisoned beneath the earth for all eternity for turning mankind away from the Maker. This one, Urthemiel, God of Beauty, had been found and corrupted by darkspawn, turning it into an archdemon to lead them. And so, the Blight. Flemeth and Morrigan were trying to recover the essence of the God which they worshipped in dragon form.

Maker, what a fool he'd been! A fool to think she'd ever had any real feelings for him! He glared at her.

It was a knife through her heart, that look. She lowered her eyes, unable to look at him, but determined not to shed tears.

But Urthemiel said she had almost thrown away her life? For him? He was still trying to piece it all together when the God spoke.

"I cannot let you walk away from here, human. It is too soon for me to leave and the flock must be protected. Kill him," Urthemiel commanded his followers. They descended on him then, and even with his great skill, he knew their sheer force of numbers would quickly overwhelm him.

"No!" Morrigan shouted in a panic. She threw herself in front of him and raised her arms, a massive electrical storm beginning to swirl above her head. "Approach no further! I do not…wish to slay…you, but…" She felt the burning now. Excruciating pain, as though her blood would boil at any moment. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead.

The cultists stopped, uncertain what to do. Their God had ordered them into battle, but their high priestess stood in their way. And she clearly meant to attack them.

She could not keep her feet and fell to her knees.

"Morrigan!" the Warden cried, alarmed by her collapse. What was happening to her? The Old God had made no apparent move. She had simply been overwhelmed by something…some unseen force.

"Don't come…closer, I warn you," she managed through gritted teeth to her followers, finding it nearly impossible to maintain her magic. "Dekker…you must…leave now…quickly. I will…hold them back…as long as…I am…able," she struggled to say, the pain threatening her consciousness now. "Please…" she entreated through tear-filled eyes.

Those beautiful golden eyes that were trying to sacrifice themselves for him, that were telling him she **did** care for him. He shook his head. "I'm not leaving without you, Morrigan. I didn't spend all this time searching for you to leave you behind now," he said earnestly, crouching in a defensive stance at her side, raising his shield over her fallen form and wielding his sword in a threatening manner.

"Noooo…I cannot…go with you…please…leave!" Morrigan pleaded.

The Warden was confused.

The cultists began to creep slowly towards them as Morrigan's strength and her magic waned.

"Morrigan, what's wrong with you? Get up! Please!" the Warden cried. She looked in agony now, her breathing labored.

Urthemiel stepped forward then and raised his hand to signal the group to stop. "Mother…" He paused. "A strange word…but you are my biological parent, so it is an apt description. I do not wish to see you die, but you know that you cannot resist the blood that flows in your veins. It is part of you…you are bound to it. You are dying now. If you continue to fight your blood, it will destroy you. You were bound as a child in the ritual Binding. Once you drank the blood of the Dragon, you became one with us. You **must** do as we say. It is the blood magic. The blood of the Dragon runs in us. We are one with the Dragon, we **are** the Dragon. The Dragon is our God," He said in a chanting tone.

As if on cue, the cultists around him murmured the chant over and over, "The blood of the Dragon runs in us. We are one with the Dragon, we **are** the Dragon. The Dragon is our God."

"To disobey is death. To resist is death. To fight is death. You know this. Do you not feel your blood burning? Do you not feel your organs on fire? You have known your purpose since you were but a child, since Flemeth brought you to us. There is no turning back. Yet you still fight it. You were allowed to live in the Wilds at Flemeth's request. But this is your destiny. You are a high priestess of the Dragon. You were chosen to bear the God in man-form. You have an exalted place in the order. Would you really die to save this human?"

Morrigan looked into the Warden's eyes, imparting all that she could with them, trying to say all that she would not before. The pain had nearly robbed her of speech. "Yes," she finally managed emotionally.

"No! Morrigan…no! Stop this, you must stop this! I'll do whatever you want, don't let her die!" the Warden pleaded frantically, looking back and forth between the God and Morrigan.

The God seemed puzzled…intrigued by Morrigan's response. This creature…this human…had chosen the survival of another over her own. Humans never ceased to amaze him with their capacity for violence, hate, love. They were wonderfully unpredictable. He quite enjoyed observing, and indeed, manipulating them. This human had been a self-absorbed survivalist, a power-monger like her mother. But now…"This is most unexpected. I must consider this," he said imperiously. He waved his hand.

A veil of blackness suddenly enveloped her vision and she closed her eyes. She could hear still, but only distantly. She couldn't think anymore. Even the pain seemed farther away. She lost consciousness.

The Warden cried out, "Morrigan!" and he fell to his knees, cradling her in his arms.

"She is not dead, Warden. I yet have need of her. I simply made her sleep to end her struggling against that which she is. She will destroy herself with her rebellion. I have put an end to it for now. She will recover…because I allow it. Understand you live now because she demanded it, because I cannot let her forfeit her life for you at present. But she is of the Dragon. If she tries to leave without consent, she will die. And there may come a time when I will not need her. I will contemplate what is to be done, and I will speak to you again on the morrow. Take her to her quarters," he ordered two of the cultists.

When they came for her, the Warden shoved them away, and lifted her into his arms, glaring at the child. The Old God nodded to his minions to lead the Warden.

* * *

He was not sure what to do…what he **could** do. Maker! She was trapped here…by her blood ties. He felt trapped here by his love for her. Even if he could escape, how could he leave her here to live this terrible life? One she had not chosen…one that accursed Flemeth had sentenced her to as a helpless child. Damn her!

Morrigan moaned. He refreshed the cool wet cloth he had used to swab her down…to ease her burning. She had truly been on fire. No fever he had ever seen made the skin so hot to the touch. The pain must have been unimaginable. She was better now, cooler. The God had truly saved her simply by robbing her of her consciousness, her ability to fight, her will to resist. "Shhh…shhhh…stay calm, don't fight it anymore. Relax, Morrigan, please…" he entreated as she slowly returned to wakefulness.

Her eyes cleared and she was surprised and greatly relieved to see him leaning over her. She had thought she was finished…but to see him still alive was too much to hope for. She smiled gratefully even as she did not understand what it meant. "Why am I…still…?" she said haltingly, getting up.

"The Old God said he still needed you and put you to sleep so you did not perish," the Warden said softly, so happy she was alright he could barely speak. "Morrigan," he whispered, stepping to her and taking her hand in his, "I'm so sorry. I…didn't know. What it must have been like for you…" he said stroking her hair, his eyes filled with sympathy.

"I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to hurt you. I had to…just as I had to lay with Riordan. Not just for me, but for **you**. I couldn't just let you die without trying to stop it. Tell me you see the truth, now, tell me…you forgive me," she said softly, her golden eyes pleading for understanding.

He nodded, "I see everything. It's alright, my love, it's alright." He leaned in to kiss her.

She put her fingers on his lips. "I cannot. We can never be…I thought you understood. The Dragon is in my blood…I…am forever bound to it," she said sadly, lowering her head.

"But **you** are in **my** blood and I am forever bound to **you**," he replied emotionally, lifting her chin to gaze into his smoldering eyes. He took her lips passionately.

She tensed at first, half expecting the burning again. But no fire lit within her save the one in her heart and she relaxed into his kiss, responding to him…allowing herself this stolen happiness. She caressed his face, reveling in the feel of him, the taste of him after so long. Even as she kissed him, she felt the ache begin again, knowing this all too brief moment was soon to end. And she knew that's all it was…a moment. For as soon as she could think of a way to free him, as soon as she saw an opportunity, she would seize it, no matter the cost. And he would be gone forever.


	6. Chapter 6

**6.**

"**Dragon Bound"**

"_Is there more to draconic intelligence than we have heretofore guessed at? No member of a dragon cult has ever been taken alive, and what accounts exist from the days of the Nevarran hunters record only mad rants and impossible tales of godhood. With dragons only recently reappearing and still incredibly rare, we may never know the truth, but the question remains."_

-From Flame and Scale, by Brother Florian, Chantry scholar, 9:28 Dragon.

"Tell me everything. Hold nothing back. The truth, Morrigan," the Warden said, knowing that veracity was not something she had had great success with.

She flushed, ashamed of her history with him.

He placed his hand on her shoulder gently and gave her an encouraging smile.

Morrigan studied him for a few moments, wanting to tell him all of it, to unburden herself of all the years of it, but afraid of his reaction. "My eyes were green," she whispered finally.

"What?" he asked, not understanding.

"My eyes were green, before…" she managed weakly, as a tear escaped her golden eyes.

Dekker pulled her to him. "You have the most amazing eyes I've ever seen…I love your eyes. You are truly the most beautiful woman I've ever known," he said sincerely.

She smiled slightly, grateful for his tolerance. She had thought he might feel only revulsion for her now. "The Binding…it…changed me. Not just my eyes. I am stronger and my endurance is easily threefold that of a normal woman," Morrigan revealed.

"I noticed that, but I don't understand how it **holds** you…when you disobeyed them, went against them…it nearly killed you. Your skin was on fire…how? The Old God seemed to have nothing to do with it," he asked, concerned.

Morrigan sighed deeply. She had feared and felt the burning for so long now, it seemed second nature to her. For she had a rebellious disposition, as the Warden had found out, and she had experienced the burning many times, if only mildly. Today, it had almost taken her life. "The Binding is blood magic. The blood of the Dragon is bound directly to the blood of he who drinks it. 'Tis a symbiotic relationship for some, enhancing physical qualities, but for all it means bondage. It means complete loyalty to the Dragon, her drakes, and her dragonlings. We protect and raise them and worship them as the children of the Old Gods. We do their bidding. They communicate with each other and with us through a link of our minds. I do not pretend to understand it, I only know 'tis so. The connection between the Dragon and her followers is much like that of darkspawn, but we are bound to her by her blood. 'Tis not a hive mind as with the darkspawn, for the dragons do not know our thoughts, only if we do not obey, if we deviate from that which they have commanded of us for the good of the brood. She uses the bound blood that runs through our veins to bend us to her will. She makes her wishes known to our minds and if we do not comply…there is great pain, and eventually death. The burning is unlike anything you could imagine, my Warden. Any perceived treachery, any disobedience, or attempted escape causes the dragon's blood to heat in our veins. 'Tis the same chemistry that allows the dragon to breathe fire. Dragon's blood can tolerate extreme heat, but other beings…humans, elves, dwarves…it matters not. Our blood breaks down, slowly, excruciatingly, and eventually we are consumed by the burning. 'Tis the ultimate leash, for if we step too far away from our Dragon and her brood without consent, the burning begins and we must return. 'Tis a prison certainly for those who are not committed to the cause," she finished.

The Warden was astounded. He had imagined living with Flemeth in the Korcari Wilds would be the worst imaginable sentence a child could face, but **this**…Maker, it was inconceivable!

"Can we not just slay the dragons and end the threat to you?" he asked.

Morrigan flinched and looked about as though they were risking much by this discussion. "No, we are forever tied to them. It is understood that we defend our dragons to the death. If we fail, we perish with them. They will destroy us before they die. 'Tis but a thought from them to activate the dragon's blood in us," she said solemnly.

The Warden suddenly flashed to Morrigan's illness at Haven, her raging fever, her inability to fight the dragons and Kolgrim's cultists. She had begged them not to attack the high dragon. "Haven?" he asked, "When we sought Andraste's Ashes?"

"I…am sorry. I could not help it. We are loyal to **our** dragon, Naursul, but dragons are loyal to each other and she would not let me help you. The high dragon there is Naursul's daughter, Valruin. The cultists believe her to be Andraste, but 'tis not so. If you had slain her…I…do not know what would have happened to me," she admitted.

"It is I who am sorry. I would never have brought you along had I known the danger you were in," he said.

She smiled sadly. "Ah, but I could not tell you," she said.

He had to ask now. He had to know if she might be at risk. "I…have heard about…other effects of the blood," he said diplomatically, the idea of losing her to insanity making him sick to his stomach.

Morrigan saw the look on his face and knew his concern. "'Tis the madness you speak of, is it not?"

Dekker nodded, swallowing hard.

"For some reason, mages are not subject to this effect. Perhaps 'tis that their will is higher than most, that their minds are not so fragile. The dragon's blood does not corrupt us in that way. A fact for which I am most grateful," she finished. "I believe that, along with our power, 'tis one of the reasons Flemeth and I are high priestesses, and why I was chosen to…bear the child," she said, her eyes shining with guilt.

He nodded, trying not to make her feel worse than she obviously already did. "And Flemeth? Where does she fit in?" he said, his heart breaking for her.

"Flemeth went through the Binding many years before. 'Tis how she learned to shapeshift into a high dragon. My mother studied Naursul over a generation before she was able to master the form. 'Naursul' is from the ancient language meaning "Fire Wind". She is an ancient beast, and very powerful. It is why Flemeth chose **her** to study," she explained. Then she paused, as though struggling with a painful memory. "I was in my ninth year when Flemeth brought me to them, and made me drink, so that I would learn to preserve the old ways and respect the power of the Old Gods. She bound me to Naursul. She was high priestess but her power and loyalty had earned her the freedom to stay just north of the nest in the Korcari Wilds where we had lived before, which she preferred to the cold and damp of the caves. I was allowed to stay with Flemeth so that I could continue my training with her. We traveled to the lair regularly and, of course, when we were needed, Naursul summoned us. When the darkspawn awoke the Old God, we began to have dreams. He called to us," Morrigan said.

The Warden's eyes widened. "You were having dreams, too? Of the archdemon?" he asked incredulously.

She nodded. "Grey Wardens were not the only ones to have dreams. Urthemiel called to us in the Fade. The ancient texts have been preserved throughout the ages by the faithful. As high priestesses, we learned the language of the Ancient Ones. My mother and I heard his call because the Binding had made us one with the Dragon. We understood because we learned the ancient tongue. He bade us free Him from His corruption, to help Him be born again apart from the Taint. To let him walk the earth again as he once was, but in the form of a man. I was chosen to bear the God in human form. Flemeth formulated a plan and saved you from the Tower of Ishal to set it into motion. I…did not know it was to be you…that **you** were the Chosen One, until she brought you back to the hut and I nursed you back to health. I was as surprised as you when she announced I was to travel with you," she explained.

"What does the Old God want? Why is He here?" the Warden asked.

"I do not know, precisely. I believe it is as He says, that he only wishes to walk free upon the earth again, but I cannot be sure. He confides only in his daughter, Naursul," she said.

The Warden's eyebrows rose.

"All dragons on the earth today are descendants of the Old Gods. Even now the child shares a special bond with her. They commune daily, but I am not privy to their conversation," she said.

She debated telling him then of the spirit charge…of her desperate plan to save herself when Flemeth returned But he was sure the old witch was dead, and she knew it would only tie him to her more tightly…as it would to admit her feelings for him. If she could not be free, she did not wish it so. No, she would tell him only if it came to that. If she had to…

The door opened and Urthemiel entered, flanked by several burly cultists.

"I have considered the matter carefully. It is simply a matter of expedience, Warden. I have no issue with you, though I would have preferred your biology to Riordan's. But that is of no consequence now. Circumstances demand you do not leave here. I need my high priestess, especially with her mother gone. She is a powerful ally, and until my power and cognizance are fully developed, she is necessary. But her attachment to you presents me with a dilemma. I cannot just let you go…the risk to my children is too great. But the human mother has made it clear that she will fight us at the expense of her own life if we try to take yours. I cannot tolerate this. But there is another option…if you were to join us. Drink with us in the Binding and be one with the Dragon," the child-God said.

Morrigan gasped. "No! I forbid it! No, Dekker, you cannot do this! You will be bound forever…and you bear the Taint. We cannot know what effect dragon's blood will have on you. No! This is not an acceptable solution," she insisted.

Urthemiel glared at her then…a cold, malevolent gaze. "Are you certain you wish to align yourself against your God, Priestess? It will not bode well for you. You would be welcome at my side, but if I cannot trust you…" he said forebodingly.

Morrigan looked Him boldly in the eye. "I will never let you harm the Warden while I draw breath," she declared defiantly. "I have served you. I have done as you asked. But I will not brook any attempt to slay the Warden. Free him. He will say nothing," she declared, looking at the Warden meaningfully and nodding for him to agree to those terms.

"I'm afraid I cannot rely on your word in this matter. Nor can I expect the Grey Warden never to return and try to slay us all," Urthemiel said. The child turned to Dekker. "You came to us. You broke into our home. You have slain my children, my followers. Now, you'll remain a prisoner here until such time as I have no need of my mother. Then, you will perish. And if, at that time, my high priestess has not seen reason, then she will join you in your fate. That is my judgment. It is the will of the Dragon," He said with finality.

"So sayeth the Dragon," the cultists chanted.

Morrigan lifted her chin and gave Him a steely look. She would not cower before this…child. The God in Him was not yet fully aware…or capable. 'Twas only the dragon's blood in her veins that prevented her from challenging Him directly now. She cared not for His secrets or His power any longer. She wished only to be free, to be with the Warden. But that was impossible. "So be it," she announced, glaring at Him as He spun on His heel and walked out. There would be a way, she thought, her eyes narrowing. There would be a way to free the Warden, and she would find it.


	7. Chapter 7

**7.**

"**Hunters!"**

"_The previous several years have seen two dragon flights ranging out of the Frostback and Orkney Mountains, even though it was thought that dragons had been hunted to extinction by Nevarran dragon hunters during the Steel Age. The dragons devastated the countrysides in Orlais and Nevarra, and all attempts to slay them ended in disaster. Despite this destruction, some see the return of dragons to Thedas as a glorious sign—Chantry scholars, however, claim that this is the worst of omens. As the Blessed Age draws to a close, they named the Dragon Age, saying that it will be an age of violence and upheaval."_

-End of Age historical records, Pentaghast Library, Nevarra City, 8:99 Blessed

They came at night as they always did, to catch the majority of the brood asleep. The cultists that guarded them would be at their dullest. It was a long-held strategy that had served them well over the centuries. They were dragon hunters from Nevarra, experts at their craft. They came from a distinguished line of dragon slayers…the Pentaghasts. And they were the ruling clan of the country of Nevarra, militaristic and politically astute.

Nevarra was originally one of the the larger Free Marches city states. But as a result of an aggressive expansion campaign that spanned the Storm and Blessed Ages, they had become a powerful rival of Orlais, and indeed, had engaged in a border war with them over the mineral rights of the western hills at Perendale. Nevarra had emerged victorious, but an uneasy truce remained, with civil unrest still percolating in the conquered region…fueled by Orlais, of course.

The Pentaghasts had assumed leadership of a powerful federation of Free Marches states…alliances formed either by persuasion or pressure. Either way, they ruled with an iron grip. They were well-suited to the task and their illustrious history spoke to it. Famed for their dragon hunting heritage, each of the dragon hunters throughout their history had led a crusade to hunt dragons to extinction. And they came close to succeeding. While they were revered as heroes, the truth was they hunted primarily for glory and dragonbone, not for the good of the people. But for all their efforts, inexplicably, at the end of the Blessed Age, dragons resurfaced across the land, leading to the new age being titled the Dragon Age.

But this was a boon and a bounty for the men that appeared at the mouth of the cave harboring Morrigan's cult. The Nevarrans knew that dragons prefer to settle in old ruins and cave complexes. Through the Steel Age, humans often destroyed such locations to discourage dragons from nesting close to settlements, but such precautions fell out of practice after dragon hunters had nearly ended their existence. This particular location was well away from any settlements, and well-disguised. It was only their expertise that had allowed them to recognize cultists getting supplies in Gwaren, and track them back to their seaside lair many leagues away. Nevarran dragon hunters were renowned for their ability to sniff out dragons and those that worshipped them. One of the hunters had spotted the odd physical appearance of a cultist and the group had followed them on the long march back to the brood. And they waited for nightfall.

They were 36 strong in the hunting party, a small army, in fact...all seasoned warriors, all experienced dragon slayers. They were well-armed and well-armored. They expected to be victorious…to clean out another nest of the beasts and their loyal followers. But they did not know of the fledgling God the cultists harbored. They were not aware a most powerful sorceress was their high priestess. They did not expect a Grey Warden, and **this** Grey Warden in particular, to be among the enemy. It was a bad day to be a dragon hunter.

"I will free you somehow, Dekker, I swear it," Morrigan vowed. "As long as the Old God needs me, I will have some measure of freedom within the lair. I will arrange something…a diversion, perhaps. And you will be able to escape. We will find a way," she said, a determined look on her features.

The Warden had to smile at her ferocity in trying to protect him. He nodded. "And then, I will find a way to free you, my love, if it's the last thing I do," Dekker said.

She allowed a half smile to spread across her lips and took his hand. She realized she felt the ring she had given him and looked down at it hopefully. "Perhaps," she said wistfully.

He took her chin in his palm and looked in her eyes, wondering what was going through her mind. She only smiled, but it was tinged with sadness he thought. He would tell Morrigan that she was no longer an apostate. That would surely cheer her.

Before he could tell her about it, they heard shouting and the clanging of sword and shield outside the room. The Warden instinctively reached for his gear, momentarily forgetting his circumstance…that it had been taken from him.

Morrigan paused for a moment, then she answered aloud, "Yes, I will come."

The Warden was startled…until he realized she had just been summoned. The link she had referred to had been activated.

"Stay here, Dekker. The brood is under attack by dragon hunters. 'Tis my place to defend them," she said, as she moved to the door aggressively.

The Warden grabbed her arm protectively, "No, don't…you don't know how many or how well-armed they are…I…I don't have my weapons…"

"You know I must…" she said sadly. Then she smiled encouragingly at him, flung open the door, and vaulted into the fray, a frosty wintery mix spewing from her hands into the group of hunters that stood before her.

The Warden looked around him frantically for anything he could use as a weapon. Seeing nothing, he decided to improvise. He only needed to subdue one armed man to gain his arsenal. The Warden grabbed a wooden chair and hurtled himself like a madman at the nearest hunter, smashing the chair over his head. The man's armor prevented him from being hurt, but the force with which the Warden hit him was enough to knock him to the ground, stunned. That was all Dekker needed. He stomped the man's chest, knocking the air from his lungs, and before the hunter could regain his wind, the Warden had deprived him of his sword, shield and a dagger. Ah, that is better, Dekker thought. The man rolled over and regained his footing, but finding he was facing a fully armed man and had been stripped of his own weapons, he began to back away towards the front door of the manor.

"Run, dragon hunter, and never come back or I shall strip you of your armor, too!" the Warden shouted. He turned to find Morrigan standing next to him, having already dispatched the three hunters she had faced. She burst out laughing, "Well done, my Warden…and with a chair! Imagine what damage you could have done had you real weapons. They are no match for you."

He grinned.

Then she noticed the open door behind him…and no guards between the Warden and the door. "Now! 'Tis your chance! Go!" she cried.

The sounds of battle raged elsewhere in the manor and in the cave below.

He shook his head. "Not till I know you are safe…that these dragon hunters are defeated," he said.

Morrigan started to argue with him, but she felt her blood warm and Narsul's commands more insistent in her head. "I…must go…Dekker, please," she tried once more.

He shook his head again. "Come, it will be like it once was…we will make short work of them together," he said. He offered her his best mischievous grin.

Morrigan could not help but return his smile and nodded. They **had** made a good team. She charged down into the lair with the Warden at her side just like in the days of old.

"'Tis a Griffon rider, a Grey Warden, I recognize him!" said one of the men in the group that blocked the tunnel.

"Why do you not travel in appropriate gear so you may be recognized, Warden?" the leader of the hunters said. "Perhaps you are in league with these cultists and you wish to be anonymous," he theorized, eying the Warden suspiciously.

"No!" Morrigan shouted, "'Tis not so! He is not part of the cult! He is their prisoner!"

"Bah! We cannot take the word of the high priestess! If he were your prisoner, you would not be so anxious to protect him. No, she seeks to protect her flock. We shall do the Grey Wardens a service and slay you for the traitor that you are! Kill them!" the Nevarran hunter ordered.

The men flew at the Warden. His lack of armor put him in a precarious position, but Morrigan was ahead of him. A cone of frigid arctic air blasted from her hands, instantly freezing three of the men in mid-stride. One of the attackers diverted to take out Morrigan, but the Warden was at her side, bashing the man with his shield and spinning to strike him from behind. He rolled back to the frozen forms of the hunters and swung his shield flat, shattering two of the men. Then he struck 2 mighty blows with his sword in rapid succession killing the third as he thawed.

Morrigan had turned her attention to the remaining hunters, unleashing an arc of lightning that conducted from one man to another, killing three in a line of onrushers.

The Warden was engaged with two others, and with expert blocking and striking tactics, dispatched them quickly.

The two men that remained in the rearward group, one of them the man who had recognized the Warden, looked awestruck. Slack-jawed and terrified, they turned to run.

Morrigan looked over at him and then at the group of men they had just taken out. A satisfied smile came over her face. A smile of fond remembrance.

The Warden returned it. They were just as effective together as they had been against the darkspawn, nearly two years ago.

Then the smile ran away from her face. "Yes, I understand," she answered. Morrigan turned to the Warden. "There are more. In the main chamber and the beach entrance. They hope to block our escape. Come," she said authoritatively.

When they reached the main chamber, the fighting was furious. Dragon screeching filled the air. Shouts and screams and metal striking metal. Drakes were breathing fire at the hunters, snapping at them, trying to defend the dragonlings, who bit at the legs of the well-armored men uselessly. The cultist numbers were great, but dwindling. The skills and equipment of the hunters were far superior.

Morrigan estimated there were perhaps 15 dragon hunters here, all actively engaged. She did not see the Old God. He would undoubtedly be hidden away to protect Him from harm…and from discovery, doing what He could from a safe vantage point. She saw this as her chance to free the Warden. "Quickly, Dekker. We will go to the beach entrance to take on the men there. I will not be subjected to the burning as long as I am making an effort to engage the enemy, and you will be given your opportunity," she said.

He nodded, understanding her idea…bypass the fighting here, which kept the drakes and cultists busy. Then take out the hunters at the beach entrance and he would be free to escape. Clever. He admired her once again. "Wait! My equipment!"

She nodded and they ran to a chest in the main chamber that held his gear, retrieved it and he donned his armor as he ran, enjoying the feel of **his** weapons in his hands again.

When they reached the beach, there were only five men blocking the way.

Morrigan glanced at him, smiling. "Child's play," she murmured, and unleashed a lightning storm on them, killing two instantly, and downing another. The Warden was on the remaining two, hacking and slashing. They never knew what happened. They simply were alive one moment and not the next.

Morrigan and the Warden ran out onto the beach to be sure the coast was, in truth, clear. There was no one. The only sound was the crashing of the surf as it rolled onto the shore. It was an odd disparity from the noises within the cave they had just exited…surreal, as though they had just left one world and entered another.

Morrigan looked at him sadly. "Go quickly, Dekker. I will return to the main chamber. There were not so many left. I will do away with them easily, I think, with the help of the brood. Take care, my Warden," she said, unable to keep the tears from welling.

He gripped her shoulders. "I love you, Morrigan, I'll be back for you, I swear it," the Warden said, resting his head against hers.

"No! You must never come back here. I cannot leave, do you not understand?" she wailed.

"I'll find a way. I'll talk to every mage in every town. I'll have the Circle research it. Wynne, Anders, Velanna…everyone. There must be some spell, some potion that will end the burning," he said, desperation rising in his voice.

"Do you not think I have searched? That I have not tried to end this nightmare? I found nothing. No…I will not let you waste your life searching for something that does not exist…not …for me," Morrigan said, her voice breaking. "You must forget me, you must…"

He cut her off. "I will never forget you…why do you not believe me when I tell you? I love you beyond anything I could have imagined. I want no other. I cannot get over you. I cannot. I know you feel it, too. Can you not tell me you love me after I have come all this way, searched all this time? Can you not say it? Even now? When I am leaving?" he pleaded, his eyes begging her.

Her lips parted to speak, but she stopped, and said nothing. How could he understand? 'Twas **because** he had gone to such great lengths…**because** he loved her so, that she would not say it. She wanted to, but she would not tie him to her for the rest of his life and keep him hanging forever with her words. If she told him the truth now…if she told him she loved him, he would never give up on her. He would never stop trying to free her, and it would consume him. She did not wish him to spend the rest of his life pining for her. She had hurt him enough.. If she could not be with him, she would rather…he…find someone else. Even as she thought it, a lump rose in her throat and her eyes welled. She **did** love him…enough to give him up

She turned away. "Dekker, I…'tis impossible, no. I am sorry. But I told you not to look for me, not to follow. I did not wish this for you, to be enslaved as I am. I beg you, leave now, before they find you. I must go back and help the others before my blood warms," she said numbly.

The Warden's face fell. He had thought she might admit it then.

"Goodbye, Dekker, fare thee well," Morrigan said softly as she started back to the lair.

He grabbed her arm. "Morrigan, do you think I do not know why you will not say it? I know you think to protect me from myself, from spending my life trying to save you. But you cannot. Whether you speak the words or not, I will never stop trying to help you. I told you once, I will always protect you, and I meant it. I will not rest until you are free, and nothing you say or do will stop me. Please, Morrigan, I need to hear it from your lips before I leave," Dekker entreated.

She would not face him. His pleas were met with silence.

The Warden sighed, and released her. "I will come for you, Morrigan, when I have the answer. And I will find an answer. Please be careful, and do not anger them. You will be free one day, I swear it. Goodbye, my love," he said emotionally, and turned to leave.

He had only taken a few steps when she cried out, "Dekker!"

He turned and she was in his arms. "If you are such a fool that you stubbornly refuse to give up on one such as I, then I must at least send you away with the truth, must I not?" she murmured into his ear. "I love you, Dekker, my Warden, I love you…I will always love you," she whispered. Then she kissed him.

When she released his lips, she looked him in the eye, "Promise me you will not return unless you can free me from the blood ties. I could not bear it if…promise me."

Dekker nodded grimly.

"I must go, the dragons must not be allowed to die, or I will face the same fate. There are only a few hunters left, I can easily dispatch them," she said pulling away from him.

The Warden reluctantly let her go. "Stay alive, Morrigan, damn it! Don't fight them. Do what they ask and wait for me. I'll find a way to help you. I'll come for you. I love you, Morrigan," he said, choking on his own emotion.

She offered him an encouraging half-smile. "Do not fear for me, my Warden. It will take more than a few dragons and an Old God to slay me. I am much too obstinate to die. I will wait for you. But if you do not come, know that I will always remember our…'entanglement'," she said. Morrigan gazed at him a moment longer, her reluctance to leave transparent.

Then she turned and ran back into the cave to finish the hunters, leaving the Warden standing alone on the beach, the sound of the surf and her words ringing in his ears…'I love you, Dekker'. At last, he thought. He swallowed the lump in his throat and took off at a brisk trot, bound for Ferelden and the Circle of Magi to begin his search for Morrigan's cure.


	8. Chapter 8

**8.**

"**The Wicked Witch of the Wilds"**

She made her way along the coast, a lone hawk traveling south to a land uncharted by any map…to a place only she and precious few others knew existed. And to the end of the long road she had traveled. The time had come. She'd watched and waited. At last, the time had come.

She'd had to make it **look** as though he had slain her, to prolong the battle long enough that he would truly believe he had killed her after a hard-fought victory. It was not as simple a task as she had anticipated. This one's mind was not easily bent. And it had taken her longer to convince him he had done the deed, that he had saved his precious Morrigan. But that had been the way with this Warden. **Everything** had been more difficult than she had expected. Bah! Why couldn't Urthemiel have chosen the other one…the weak-minded fool, Alistair? But then, that is **why** the Old God had chosen this Cousland. He wanted strength, he wanted will. Both the sons of King Maric fell woefully short. Cailan had been an overgrown child, playing at war like the fool he was. And Alistair was a popinjay, a buffoon given to idle comic chatter and whining. No, the Old God wanted nothing to do with Theirin bloodlines. He insisted on the Cousland. But, of course, the Warden had seen fit to ruin their plans, to deny Morrigan's advances when it mattered most. She had watched unseen as the fool girl settled for the Orlesian Warden, Riordan.

But what did she care, really? As long as the Old God was placated. None of that would matter soon. Soon all she had worked for come to pass, all her plans would come to fruition. And this Cousland would pay. He would pay the price for the theft of her lands and titles by his family so many years ago, and for his interference in her current plans…his audacity in challenging her.

Damn the Couslands! The Elstan family, cousins of the Howes of Amaranthine, had held Highever in the Towers Age, when she had been Conobar Elstan's wife. She had, of course, dispatched her husband after he murdered her lover Osen. But that did not mean she was not entitled to Highever, she thought. She had earned it...by tolerating that pig Conobar, by suffering the loss of Osen. But when she fled the castle with Conobar's men on her heels, that opportunistic Cousland bastard Sarim, a lowly captain of the guard, had laid claim to her rightful lands and title. The Couslands had held Highever since that time. But that would soon change. She would have Amaranthine, as well, for all her trouble, she thought gleefully. But there was much to do yet, before that could occur.

Flemeth landed on the bluff away from the manor and reverted to her human form. It was nearly midnight, the moon high in the sky. She strode purposefully toward the old house.

She had waited, watched, prepared. She was more powerful now. She had spent her time well, acquiring potent new spells, learning ways to control the young pup's still-developing powers. He was only a threat to her when he had achieved His full Godhood. And she would never let that happen. Now, He was dependent on the brood and the high priestesses to protect Him, dependent on their loyalty…on the forced loyalty of the dragon's blood…the Binding. She laughed viciously. She was a high priestess and she had undergone the Binding…but she had no intention of protecting Him. The Old God was immature yet…he would be no match for her. Once He revealed what He knew, once she gained His knowledge…His power, she would end His existence.

She needed to plumb the secrets of the Old God. She wanted to know of the magic the Old Gods had revealed to the magisters of old, of the Tevinter Imperium. What power they must have known to embolden them to attack the Golden City of the Maker! And she wanted to control the darkspawn…to command an army of malleable slaves. With her at their helm, no one could stand against them! What was the secret to calling them? To commanding and controlling them? All these things she would know…she would pull from the Old God on pain of death. The time was right to make her move. And when she was finished she would be unstoppable. Her power would rival that of the Maker Himself, she thought arrogantly.

And there was Morrigan. Lovely, treacherous Morrigan. Why couldn't she just do as she was told without questioning? "Lie still and let me take your body, child," she thought, bemused. Then she cackled to herself. Ah, 'twas too much to hope for. The girl was too clever and Flemeth had taught her too well. She had to admire the child's crafty resourcefulness. Not only had Morrigan uncovered Flemeth's plot to steal her body, she had convinced…no, more likely seduced the Warden into facing her mother, into fighting her battle for her. A brilliant maneuver Flemeth was forced to respect. She smiled maliciously. Ah, Morrigan, you only delay the inevitable. I am coming for you child. I will have your body and there is nothing you can do about it. And then I will make your beloved Warden suffer before I slay him.


	9. Chapter 9

**9.**

"**The Witching Hour"**

They would not be expecting her. They would not be suspicious of her. In all likelihood, they would rejoice to see the return of their high priestess. That would make it all the easier to slaughter them.

The three cultists guarding the door of the manor were overjoyed she was still alive. "The others are asleep. We must wake them and tell them the senior high priestess is back! And we must tell Urthemiel. The blood of the Dragon runs in us. We are one with the Dragon, we **are** the Dragon. The Dragon is our God," one of the men said in a chanting tone.

On cue, the other two cultists murmured the chant over and over, "The blood of the Dragon runs in us. We are one with the Dragon, we **are** the Dragon. The Dragon is our God."

"Yes…yes..." she said, irritated. If she never had to hear that mindless drivel ever again… "But we must not wake the others. And we must not disturb Urthemiel. They need their rest for the morrow's work. This grand news will keep till then. But now, there is an urgent matter you must attend to. Let us step into the storeroom so we may discuss it at length where unwanted ears may not hear," Flemeth entreated, luring them into the room and closing the door. They would not be attending to any matters hereafter.

She made her way silently to Morrigan's room, entered and sat down at her bedside. Moonlight seeped into the room through the cracks in the boards that sealed the windows from prying eyes. Flemeth studied the sleeping sorceress for a few moments. She seemed in a good physical state. Excellent. She did not want Morrigan's body damaged by what was to come, and she did not want the young mage to be able to fight back, so she whispered an incantation that would paralyze the girl. It was a very powerful spell and until she broke it, Morrigan would be unable to move…and unable to defend the Old God.

Flemeth began to envision her future in this body. Morrigan was truly a stunningly beautiful woman. With her knowledge and Morrigan's magic, there was no end to the things Flemeth could accomplish with a face and body such as hers. She need not bewitch any man. She could simply manipulate. Much more fun! Even this Warden…this strong-willed Cousland was putty in Morrigan's hands...to a point. But men like him were rare, she knew. Most men were fools for a pretty face. And Flemeth's would be very beautiful, indeed. Her lips curled into a cruel smile.

"Moooorrrrriiigggggannnnnn….." she sang softly. "Wake up, Morrigan. The night is young and we have much to talk about," Flemeth said.

Morrigan's eyes fluttered open. She was disoriented and confused at first, still half asleep. But the voice…that gravelly sing-song voice…Her vision cleared and the face that hovered over her was the one she feared most. Flemeth! Her eyes widened. Instinctively she tried to leap out of the bed to defend herself, but nothing happened. Her body did not respond. And then she understood. Paralysis.

"Hello, Morrigan. I'm so pleased to see you again. Tsk…tsk. You should be ashamed sending that nice young man to hurt your poor old mother like that. I really should be angry with you…but I'm not. I'm proud of you. It's what **I **would have done. It does a mother's heart good to know her daughter listens to the lessons she's taught," Flemeth said sinisterly. Then she laughed harshly. "But we have unfinished business, you and I. Shall we conclude it this evening, then?" she finished, her tone subtly menacing.

It was here. The moment Morrigan had dreaded. Her Warden had not returned in time. It had been seven months and she had not heard from him. She knew he would have done what he could, but he had not returned to her. She had made him swear he would not unless he had found an answer. She wondered if he still lived. She prayed he still lived. But she was on her own now. She must fend for herself, and hope the spirit charge worked. It was her only hope. But she could not speak. If she could not say the words while Flemeth was in her trance, she could not transfer her spirit before Flemeth took her body and her soul was destroyed. "Hmmmmm….mmmm…!" she struggled to speak.

"Ah, but you have questions, I see. I am willing to answer. We do after all have a history together, though 'tis not the one you think," she said, smiling derisively. Flemeth mumbled a chant and Morrigan felt her jaw come free, her neck muscles come back under her control. But she still could not move her arms and legs.

"The Old God will punish you for this, your blood will burn. He needs me still," Morrigan said desperately.

Flemeth laughed dismissively, "Urthemiel poses no threat to me. He is but a child, even in his Godhood. I will take what he knows and destroy him."

Morrigan gasped. Was it possible? Did she really have the power to do away with the Old God? Truly, he was not yet fully developed. But how? With the burning, Flemeth would not be able to sustain her attack before it crippled her.

The old witch continued, "As to my blood, I need not fear the burning. I addressed that long ago."

Morrigan was confused. "But I thought…you worshipped the Old Gods. You joined with the Dragon of your own free will many years before me," she said.

"Foolish girl, do you think I would willingly give up my freedom…my power? I joined to learn the high dragon form, to gain Naursul's secrets. The Blight was but good fortune. When the Old God called, I began to formulate a plan, to gain immense and incalculable power. Once I have the knowledge of the Old God, there will be none who can stand in my way," she gloated, her eyes gleaming with hunger.

"But…the burning…how can you defy Him?" Morrigan asked.

Flemeth shook her head as if talking to a child. "Do you not yet understand? I would never allow myself to submit to the will of another, be it God or Dragon. I never intended to subvert my will. I found an ancient tome, 'Discovering Dragon's Blood: Potions, Tinctures, and Spicy Sauces'. I altered a potion recipe to avoid the blood binding effects altogether. 'Twas a simple matter to fool these simpletons into thinking me enthralled as they were. The Dragon's blood runs in me, so I could form the link, but I was able to avoid the repercussions of disobedience, so that when the time was right, I was free to enact my plan," she explained.

"But…you made **me**…drink! If you did not believe all these years…if you were not a true follower…why did you bind **me** to them? You are…my mother," Morrigan said plaintively, her voice shaking with emotion.

The Witch of the Wilds allowed a wicked smile to curl her lips. "You are not **my** child. Flemeth knows no children. I would not taint my body bearing a child. 'Tis far better to **take** what I need. I sensed great power in you even as a small child, too young to know her parents. 'Twas an easy thing to snatch you away and silence them forever. I knew even then you would make an excellent host if properly trained. But I did not imagine you would grow into such a beautiful young woman. Almost as beautiful as Flemeth was in her first incarnation. I was the talk of Highever, did you know this? All men desired me. Conobar killed for want of me. I will know that again, now, and I will command your powerful magic. You will be my finest host yet," she said, absent-mindedly stroking Morrigan's hair. Ah, to be rid of my brittle, coarse gray hair and…

Morrigan jerked her head away, startling Flemeth out of her reverie. The young sorceress lifted her chin bravely, but she could not keep her voice from wavering, "So…I suspected as much. You are not my real mother. You stole me, murdered my real parents, and raised me…more as your servant…your unwanted apprentice. The Warden was right. You were cruel and harsh. That is not how it should be. He was not raised thus. It did not have to be so. And why did you make me drink? Why did you force me to suffer the burning?" she asked, only because she suspected there was more than Flemeth's cruelty behind it. Flemeth always had a reason.

"Ah, my dear, you were always so rebellious, so defiant…whether you were stealing baubles or wasting time helping some fool animal. You were very stubborn and willful. I feared you would run off before I could take your body, so I bound you to the cult, to the Dragon. I knew it would only make you more powerful and it would make you easy to find when I was ready for you," she explained coldly.

Morrigan felt a chill run up her spine. So I was tethered to Naursul to feel immeasurable pain until such time as my mo…Flemeth could steal my body, she thought. "But I am still bound. If you steal my body, you will feel the burning," she countered.

"Fool girl, I did not come unprepared! I brought the potion for you to drink. It is the cure for the Binding. It will release your blood cells from the dragon's blood cells that bind to them. If you drink no more blood, the dragon cells will eventually disintegrate harmlessly in your veins. Drink," she said, thrusting the potion bottle to Morrigan's lips.

Morrigan recoiled, shutting her mouth. She certainly did not trust Flemeth. And she did not wish to facilitate the theft of her body if Flemeth was lying.

"Damn you, girl! You almost made me spill it! I **will** take possession of you, but at this moment I must go deal with the God. He will certainly call upon the brood and His high priestess to protect him. Since you are in no position to help Him in your present state, you will feel the burning and you will suffer painfully until I can return and you are unable to fight the potion. Either way, I will have your body. 'Tis only a matter of how much pain you wish to experience while you wait for me to end matters here. 'Tis charity I offer you, Morrigan. I suggest you take it," Flemeth said in a distinctly uncharitable tone.

"Ha! Flemeth knows no charity. You are no benevolent old woman here to ease my pain. Do not pretend 'tis so. I am no imbecile!" Morrigan said defiantly.

"And so your rebellious nature emerges," Flemeth growled. "I am tempted to let you be tortured by the burning, but I do not wish any unexpected long-term effects on my new body, so I will tell you now…drink or I will force it down your throat!" the old witch ordered menacingly.

Morrigan eyed her for a long moment. She had resisted enough. As much as she loathed giving in to Flemeth, she could not risk the burning clouding her thoughts when it was time for her to use the spirit charge. The timing must be precise. When Flemeth began her incantation, she would go into a trance-like state, unaware of her surroundings for a few moments, and Morrigan would have a chance to cast her own soul into the ring she wore. If she was too early, Flemeth would be suspicious and might discover her plan. She could destroy the ring and Morrigan with it. And if Morrigan cast her spell too late…she would be gone forever.

"Very well…Flemeth," Morrigan said venomously. She drank the potion the old witch gave her. She felt strange then…as though her body were cooling. Morrigan had, in fact, been running a low-grade fever since she had undergone the Binding as a child, though she was unaware of it. But as the dragon's blood cells broke free from her own, their heating effect was lost, and Morrigan began to shiver, as her body chemistry began to return to normal.

"Your body responds, yes? You will feel cold for awhile, but your body will never know the burning again. Of course, that will be of no concern to you soon enough. I will return in short order and we will finish this," she said devoid of emotion. Then Flemeth turned on her heel and left Morrigan's room.

Never know the burning again. 'Twas too much to hope for. Morrigan shivered again. She could not remember ever feeling cold, really. At least not since she was a child. Yet, this was a welcome sensation, if only for its significance. Since the Binding she had always been warm in the coldest of climates, in spite of the thin, revealing garments she had always worn. Her Warden was always trying to cover her with a cloak or blanket thinking she must be freezing in her attire, but she had never needed one, save in the bitterest of winters. It seems the heat of the dragon's cells had kept her warm, for now that the effect was lost, she felt the cool dampness of the winter coast. She shivered again. To be free of the burning only now and lose my body…'tis a bitter pill to swallow. But I must not lose hope, I must believe in my Warden, she thought. He will help me.

She believed in that now…that he would do anything for her, whatever the risk. It was still hard for her to comprehend such a thing…that a man such as he would sacrifice all for her. Flemeth would call him a fool…weak. And there was a time she would have said the same. But now she found it exhilarating…her heart beat faster thinking of it. Dekker was not a fool. He was not weak. And he loved her. And for all the times she denied it, to him and to herself. For all the times she told herself 'twas foolish…that she could not feel it…that she would not feel it…she loved him. 'Twas not the terrible thing Flemeth had painted it. In truth there was a pain involved…a bittersweet feeling…a sense of aching, of loss when he was not near. But when it did not hurt, it was intoxicating. She did not pretend to understand it, but she no longer feared it. And she trusted him to save her.


	10. Chapter 10

**10.**

"**The Enemy of My Enemy**"

Flemeth still had the element of surprise. She had killed quickly and silently. She cared not if Morrigan cried out. It was already too late. She murdered the cultists in the manor as they slept and snuck down into the caves to find the Old God. He slumbered soundly in a small cavern off one of the side tunnels of the main chamber. Interesting, the old witch thought. Even as a human, He still felt more comfortable sleeping in a cave, as He had for the many years He resided in dragon form.

She crept unnoticed past the guards who watched over Him. It was not yet time. Flemeth's strategy was simple…the oldest method of defeating an overwhelming enemy force known…divide and conquer. She made her way to the critical juncture of the tunnel network and raised her arms. The ground beneath began to shake and rocks fell from the cave roof. Within seconds, the two tunnels that joined the main tunnel were sealed. The high dragon Naursul was cut off from Urthemiel and the cultists in the branch tunnels were buried under tons of rock. There would be no assistance for the Old God from those directions. Flemeth smiled sinisterly. The remainder of the brood would be awake now, but their numbers were considerably lessened. They would be easily dispatched.

Flemeth cut through those that blocked her path without difficulty…drakes, cultists, dragonlings…none could match her skill. None could withstand her onslaught. The old witch could hear Naursul's screeching outside the cave, the roars of anguish coming from the ancient beast as her brood was slain en masse, while she was forced to stand by helplessly. She could hear Naursul's pathetic cries in her mind, "Stop! Stop! What are you doing?" The Dragon was beside herself with shock and grief and pain. Flemeth tuned her out and advanced on the child-God.

Urthemiel was aghast. How was this happening? Why is her blood not burning? How can she be…? Where is the human mother? The younger priestess? Why is she not here defending Me, defending the brood? No one stood between Him and the old witch now. He tried to fight her with His limited power, but she fended off His meager attack.

Flemeth's lips curled into a malignant grin. Mere parlor tricks! His power was significantly less than she had anticipated. The God's arrogance and superior tone had obscured His true weakness. He had needed the Cult of Naursul far more than she realized to protect Him until He matured. 'Twould be far easier than she had thought. She moved towards him menacingly. "Come now, boy, I have no desire to harm you. I would simply have you tell me what you know. We have much to discuss. There are secrets you must share with your high priestess. When you have told me what I need to know, I will look after you and raise you to full maturity as I have done with Morrigan."

Urthemiel's eyes widened. He knew her plan for Morrigan. And He knew Flemeth had no intention of letting Him develop his full capability, when he could squash her like a bug. His only chance now was the young sorceress, the human mother. Her power was also great, and perhaps together…He must find her. Urthemiel suspected she would not be inclined to help Him after he had issued her death warrant, but He knew Morrigan recognized Flemeth as a greater threat. And perhaps, in this instance, it was a case of 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend'. He would know soon enough. He ducked under Flemeth's lunge and fled the main chamber in search of Morrigan.

Flemeth cursed and turned to follow, but ran headlong into a group of Urthemiel's followers. She set about ending them. It gave Urthemiel the time He needed to get to Morrigan's room. He burst into the room and shouted, "Help Me, Priestess! I…" The child-God stopped short, seeing her predicament. His only hope was paralyzed, awaiting her own death at Flemeth's hands. His childlike face fell.

In that moment, He seemed more like a real child than Morrigan had ever seen Him. Frightened, lost. And she felt…a strange feeling…a maternal instinct…a sympathy.

He could hear Flemeth fighting her way through his worshippers. "Why does she not burn? Why do **you** not? Naursul and I have called for you!" He asked frantically.

"A potion to release the dragon's blood from our own…to undo the Binding. My body will burn no more," Morrigan replied.

"Then I am truly lost. If I tell her what she wishes to know, she will end Me, 'tis certain. But she will not triumph," He said, lifting His chin defiantly. He eyed Morrigan for a moment deciding that the enemy of his enemy **was** his friend. "I know Flemeth plans to steal your body and I know you wear a spirit charge. I can sense its power, and I can guess your plan," He admitted, indicating her ring.

Morrigan gasped. The God knew. She was undone. Flemeth had won. She had no chance now. She would never see her Warden again.

"Do not be alarmed. I will not tell Flemeth. After you have used the charge and stored your essence, you will need a way to transfer back into your body. Do you know such a spell?" He asked, knowing the magic was long since lost from common knowledge.

She shook her head sadly. "I…thought to search for it," she acknowledged lamely, knowing her chances were slim.

"I know of such an incantation. It was last known to lie in the College of Magi in Cumberland, Nevarra. If you can retrieve it, you have but to get a mage to invoke it in Flemeth's presence to recover your form. Your consciousness will replace hers and she will have no body to retreat to…she will be utterly destroyed. Flemeth may end my time on this earth prematurely, but I will not see hers extended any further. You will find a way to take back your form, and I will have my revenge," Urthemiel said grimly.

"But where? The College of Magi has a vast library of tomes. I shall never find it…" she said.

"'Tis an ancient manuscript…'The Essence of Movement - Ways and Means'. 'Twas recorded by the magisters of the Tevinter Imperium many Ages ago, when we were worshipped as we should be," He said sighing. "The Maker punished us for our hubris. We gave the magisters our secrets…we gave them their magic. They failed us and were reduced to darkspawn. But many of the volumes they wrote remain. Whether this manuscript still exists, I know not, but 'twas last known to be in Cumberland," He finished.

"'Tis a chance at least. I…my thanks, Urthemiel. 'Tis unexpected," Morrigan said.

"Flemeth has betrayed us all. She will not profit by her treachery if you are successful. See to it that you are. 'Tis the last command I will give you…" the child-God said solemnly.

With that, Flemeth burst into the room. "Ah, there you are. You have been a bad boy, Urthemiel. You will have to be punished," she chided. She cast a neutralization spell on the child and the Old God found Himself powerless. "Come, there is much I wish to know," she said, grabbing Him roughly by the ear as though He were simply a wayward street urchin.

"I will tell you nothing, witch! You will slay me either way, so I will not see you rewarded for the deed," Urthemiel said, smirking.

Flemeth tried every trick, every spell she knew to get the God to talk. But He would not reveal His secrets.

He laughed at her when she told Him she wished to command the darkspawn. "You do not have the capacity. 'Tis not something I can teach. It is a natural instinct of the darkspawn to follow their Gods of Old. You are no Goddess. You are but a pathetic pretender with a mad lust for power. This ability you will never gain. And the magic of the magisters I will not give you. The Maker has punished me enough for this transgression. I will not suffer a worse fate for repeating my folly. Do what you will, Flemeth of Highever. You will get no satisfaction from Me. I am Urthemiel, God of Beauty, worshipped by the throngs for Ages. I am superior to you in every way. Bah!" He said with contempt.

"Then you will die, you pitiful excuse for a God!" Flemeth shrieked, her eyes alight with madness.

"I will die anyway. Do not think I do not know it is so, you withered hag!" He retorted.

The old witch flew into a rage. She had not anticipated she would get nothing from the Old God. She had expected He would listen to reason. 'Twas not so. She sputtered and screamed and cursed at Him. Then she ceased railing at Him and fell eerily silent. Her eyes narrowed into slits of hatred.

"The fools that worship You will no more, and Your glory will be forgotten. Only tales of Your weakness and vanity will remain, for I shall be here to spread them," she said maliciously.

"You will follow me soon enough," the Old God said ominously.

Flemeth was livid. She raised her arms and, in a blinding flash of light so bright Morrigan had to turn away, Flemeth incinerated the child-God. Urthemiel was no more.

Flemeth smirked, "Hmmph! Weak fool! I need not your power. I have destroyed the Cult of Naursul. None can stand before me," Flemeth gloated. Then she turned to Morrigan.

"And soon, none will stand before **you**," she said gleefully.

Morrigan swallowed hard and shivered again, whether from the potion or Flemeth's words she was not sure. But Flemeth's meaning was clear. It was time.


	11. Chapter 11

**11.**

"**Enter the Dragons**"

"_High dragons are mature female dragons. Unlike male dragons, or drakes, females actually grow a third set of limbs specifically to serve as wings. They are the great monsters of legend and the rarest of all dragonkind. The high dragon will excavate a massive lair for herself in order to accommodate her harem of drakes, eggs, and dragonlings. High dragons rarely leave their lairs; they prefer to spend their time sleeping, mating, and living off the prey their drakes bring back. However, roughly once every century, the high dragon will prepare for clutching by taking wing. For weeks she will fly far and wide, eating hundreds of animals. Leaving devastation in her wake, she then returns to her lair to lay her eggs. Her brood is her life. She is at once the mother, protector, and ruler of the lair."_

-From 'On the Study of Dragons' 4:17 Dragon

"The time is upon us, I will wait no longer to take what is mine," Flemeth said, still fuming over the Old God's refusal to cooperate.

"'Tis not **yours**, Flemeth, 'tis what you would steal," Morrigan replied acerbically.

"I have **earned** this, girl. I have tolerated much from you – foolishness, insolence. I have spent years teaching and training you, molding you into a sorceress worthy of me. I do not choose to raise children for **sport**. There is a purpose. Bah! Why should I explain to you? 'Tis time. Prepare yourself. The pain will be…tolerable, until you feel no more," Flemeth said.

She closed her eyes and began to mumble an incantation. A bright white light emanated from Flemeth's raised hands that grew until it engulfed them both. The glow began to change, to swirl. Hues developed in the maelstrom and then it began to turn red. Flemeth was oblivious, entranced. Just as Morrigan began to feel the pain, she murmured the spell she hoped would save her. She clenched her teeth and then…nothingness.

* * *

When Flemeth opened her eyes again, she found she could not move her arms and legs. She smiled. She turned her head to see her previous body crumpled on the floor, devoid of life. It was as it had been, time and again. There was always a period of adjustment, getting used to the new body…the weight, the size, the new limbs. She voiced the spell to release herself from the paralysis and sat up. She flexed and rolled her muscles. This was a fine form! Lithe and supple and strong. It had been many years since she had not hurt when she moved so.

Morrigan was gone. Flemeth felt no sorrow, no regret. The girl got what she deserved. And it was her cycle. Steal the child, raise the child, steal the child. It simply was. Practical, efficient. She stood…unsteadily at first, then balanced. She removed the high priestess robes Morrigan wore and walked to the mirror. The now young witch gave her old body a last glance as she glided past, before dismissing it forever. Flemeth stood in front of the mirror and inspected her naked body, checking for flaws, as though it was a beast at market she was considering for purchase. She found none and allowed herself to appreciate her new form. Withered hag, indeed! she thought triumphantly. I am beautiful again. I will capture the hearts of men…and destroy them. She smiled malignantly. She was thinking of the Warden.

* * *

Her consciousness returned to her. She could see, but she had no physical sensation…no sense that she had eyes to see with, only that she was aware of her surroundings. Flemeth seemed to be admiring her new body in the mirror…my form, Morrigan thought bitterly. But her anger faded when she realized what this strange ethereal feeling meant. It had worked! She must be held within the spirit charge, within the ring. She lived! A profound sense of happiness and relief overtook her. She had a chance!

* * *

Flemeth dressed again, this time in powerful mage robes she had brought that spoke nothing of a dragon cult. She thought of Morrigan's flimsy outfit, the one the girl had worn before returning to the cult. The one that accentuated every curve…that revealed every inch of skin that was not necessary to cover. That was not Flemeth's way. She had no wish to entice every fool that she passed. She had no qualms about employing the arts of seduction, certainly. But it had been a long time since she'd had the tools to be successful at it. Now she commanded a face and body that would carve a path through men's souls like a knife through butter.

She would use her body to full advantage when the time came, but she intended to make use of her beauty more judiciously than Morrigan had. She would not wield it as a club, scantily clad and sashaying about, dropping the jaw of every man she neared. She would use it with a lighter touch…with skill and precision…a surgical knife to cut out the hearts of men…those from which she needed something. Flemeth laughed harshly. Her first victim would be her favorite, she thought. One Dekker Cousland. She made her way out of the manor, intent on finding him.

She had barely set foot outside the house when Flemeth saw a great shadow move rapidly along the ground in front of her, blotting out the sun. She felt the rush of wind from Naursul's flapping wings before she heard the great screeching roar of the Dragon she had served for many years…the Dragon she had betrayed.

Naursul had left the lair and circled endlessly above the beach, riding the sea breezes, mind numb with shock, waiting on Flemeth's exit. Waiting for all that was left to her. Revenge. Naursul spoke through the mind link. Her voice was thick with grief, and pathetic in its wailing, "You have attacked my children, destroyed my brood, Flemeth of Highever, for I know you to be her and not the young priestess. Urthemiel warned me before you slew him. You will pay for your treachery!"

A compassionate person might have felt pity for the ancient Dragon…for the loss she had suffered, her entire family slaughtered. But Flemeth knew no such emotion…no such weakness. "I have no quarrel with you, Naursul. In honor of your form that you allowed me to study these many years, I have let you live. You can rebuild your brood. I will leave and you will never see me again," Flemeth said, not anxious to do battle with the greatest of enemies and risk damaging her exquisite new body.

"But Urthemiel was Our Father! Betrayer! Such cannot be allowed to pass! It is an unpardonable transgression! You have slaughtered my Father and my sons and daughters. My worshippers are no more. You have caused me grief unimaginable. There is no forgiveness. Your life is forfeit!" Naursul shouted at Flemeth's mind with unconcealed rage.

"No, 'tis you who will die. But if there is no other way, then the legend of Naursul ends here," Flemeth announced ominously. She raised her arms and after a bright flash, there were two high dragons at the cliff-side manor overlooking the sea. And they intended to do battle.

It was a strange thing. High dragons rarely occupied the same space and they never fought. They were small in number and understood such a thing. It was not in their interest to fight with one another and there was no competition for space or food. Nor was there ever a shortage of custodians…of worshippers of the Old Gods that looked after the brood. High dragons spaced themselves out across the land and looked after one another when possible through the burning. Naursul had helped her daughter, Valruin, the high dragon that mad fool Kolgrim and his group thought to be Andraste. She had put Morrigan through the burning to make the priestess dissuade the Warden and his party from attacking her, allowing her child to escape and find a new lair after they had left.

This was a rare thing indeed, to see two high dragons at war. But, of course, Flemeth was not really a high dragon, but an imposter…a pretender, as the Old God had called her. She cared not for the survival of the species. She cared only for her own survival. And Naursul had made it clear there would be only one survivor. Flemeth intended to see to it that **she** was the one.

Flemeth took flight, extending her great wings and soaring to meet her "mentor" in battle. She was, pound for pound, an exact replica of Naursul, down to the length of her tail and the sharpness of her claws. There was never a more even match up for a duel than this, at least physically. But Flemeth had the advantage. For she was a powerful mage, a brilliant and devious tactician, ruthless and cunning beyond even a centuries old high dragon.

They fought furiously for a time, flapping and rolling, soaring and biting, clawing and gouging. Dragon screeching filled the air. Roars of pain followed by roars of defiance. If there had been anyone alive below to witness this most spectacular of aerial battles, they would have been awestruck. But there was no one. Flemeth had seen to that.

They spewed fire at each other uselessly. The manor was the only victim, its old, dried, rotten wood catching fire instantly, like kindling, and burning to the ground. The dragons knew no damage, but, of course, it was not fire that would harm the great beast.

Water was the mortal enemy of a dragon. The glands that produced the fire they breathed, that regulated their body temperature, that controlled the burning were critical to the dragon's function. If they were extinguished, they could not be re-ignited and the dragon would die. Many a dragon hunter had tried to pierce the dragon's thick scale to reach those vital organs, but they were encased in a hardened internal shell no sword would ever pierce. But water need not pierce. Water need only seep and absorb. A dragon's greatest fear was water. The extinguishing of the fire glands. The subsequent cold.

In spite of the risk, or more because of it, they had built the lair on the coast of the Frozen Seas, which were, in fact, not frozen at all. No dragon hunters would search at seaside for a dragon. Most dragons built lairs in remote mountainside locations, far away from bodies of water. It was a brilliant strategy that had served Naursul well for centuries. But for an unfortunate series of events that allowed the Nevarrans to track the supply team back from Gwaren, they might never have been discovered here. It required certain precautions, of course. The lair was built high above sea-level and entrance and exit was carefully timed to avoid the tides and coastal storms. Fortunately, the cave network they had selected rose high above the beach and Naursul was able to stay safe and dry over the ages, for she rarely ventured out except to build her strength in the eating frenzy before she laid eggs every 100 years.

Flemeth had done her research, she had lived with the cult off and on for many years. She had studied the dragon form for a generation. She knew the weakness. And she planned to exploit it. Flemeth need not fear the water. She was many things besides a dragon. And several of them could swim. She laughed thinking of the wives' tales of witches and water. Nonsense.

Flemeth drove the unwitting, grieving Naursul out over the sea, biting, snapping, lunging. Steering. Maneuvering. When she was convinced they had gone far enough, Flemeth made her move. She abandoned the battle and soared straight up into the sun. As Naursul searched for her enemy and looked toward the ball of fire in the sky, she was blinded by the brilliance of the sun, her eyes mostly accustomed to darkness, to the dim cave light. Flemeth turned then and dove straight for the ancient dragon of Old.

Suddenly, Naursul was hit by the most violent of blows, stunning her, driving her down, down, down, spinning, hurtling out of control, her wings temporarily useless as she tried to regain her senses. Then the impact…it was more like land than water from the height she had fallen, air and fire forcibly expelled from her lungs as she landed on her back in the sea, Flemeth's form on top of her, still clutching her body with the witch's false talons. Naursul sunk beneath the water briefly, then the buoyancy of the hot air in her lungs forced her up again to float on the surface. But it would not last, Naursul knew. The water would seep in. Insidious, unstoppable water. There was no defense for it. She had been tricked…driven out over the sea, then driven into it. She had to take flight again now or she would perish. Flemeth had disappeared, but the ancient dragon had greater problems to conquer than the witch now.

Flemeth had morphed into a giant shark when she hit the water and swam up to the high dragon she had spent so many years with, circling it as though it were prey for the great predator to devour. She watched as the flames extinguished…as the fire glands were doused forever, watched as the wings became bent and useless with moisture, watched as the high dragon flailed about helplessly, its head struggling to stay above the surface, watched as the exhaustion set in…as the cold took its toll. Circling, always circling.

The heaviness of wings laden with water. The feeble attempts at flapping to escape a watery grave. The salty water she could not help but swallow. The cold…so cold. Her fire glands burned no more. She was finished. Curse you, Flemeth! I have failed you my children, my Father. Forgive me. So tired.

She let go finally, and her great high dragon form sunk beneath the surface, never to be seen again. The Age of Naursul was over.

Flemeth watched as the vacant eyes of Naursul disappeared finally into the blackness of the murky depths. She swam deeper and then turned to the surface and gyrated furiously, her tail flashing wildly behind her, propelling her upward at great speed until she breached the surface, leaping high into the air. There was a flash of light, and the shark was no more. A lone hawk flapped in place over the sea for a moment, as though getting its bearings, then made its way north towards Amaranthine…and revenge.


	12. Chapter 12

**12.**

"**Which Witch?"**

Flemeth arrived at Highever and was taken to a room to await his arrival. She had trekked to Amaranthine after slaying Naursul, thinking the Warden there, but was redirected to Highever, where he resided while they rebuilt the Grey Warden Order at Vigil's Keep. She fidgeted nervously while she waited…not because she was afraid, but because she knew for her plan to work she needed him to believe she was Morrigan. She knew he was in love with the fool girl, and if he could be hurried into a wedding…

This could not be done as it had been with Conobar, overt and violent. This required a subtle hand. Finesse. She would make her great love for him known to all. This must be perceived the happiest of marriages. Young lovers newly wed…their bliss tragically ended by the sudden, unexpected death of the husband who fell gravely and incurably ill. Flemeth would wait the appropriate amount of time to allay any possible suspicion, and the poison she used would be undetectable and untreatable, of course. And the final dose would be fast-acting…giving him only enough time to find out what she had done to him. Before he died…as he lay there gasping for breath, trying to fathom what was happening...she would twist the knife and tell him everything. She would reveal that she was Flemeth...that he had married **her**, not Morrigan. That Morrigan was dead, her soul destroyed in the transference. And she would laugh at the look of horror that would spread over his face as he realized what a fool he'd been…that he could never have hoped to defeat her. She had been around long before him and would persist long after his flesh rotted off his bones.

As the grieving widow, she would lay claim to his titles and lands and be wealthy enough to live out all her remaining lives in comfort, she thought gleefully. The Hero of Ferelden would be but a chapter in history and she would have all his worldly possessions. Flemeth's revenge would be complete. The Couslands…and **this** Cousland, in particular, would be no more. Morrigan was gone, the Warden would suffer greatly before he perished, and she would have endless riches and power among men as the Teyrness of Highever and Arless of Amaranthine.

* * *

The Warden had been feeling her in the ring frequently in the last week. And it had disturbed him. It was the spike of emotion…the increased intensity which alarmed him. It was strange and different from before. At first, only vague sensations of her, as it had always been…but emotions that made him apprehensive, as though something were happening. Distress, desperation, pain. Then nothing. Then he had felt an intense sensation of elation, stronger than any he had ever gotten from the ring. Within the last 2 days though, the happiness had given way to an even stronger emotion…fear. The anxiety was so fierce it could have been his own…except it wasn't. The ring glowed more brightly now, too. Morrigan, he thought, what in Maker's name is going on? Why were the sensations so much stronger now and occurring more often?

He began to feel his own anxiety mount, and briefly considered going back to find out what was happening to her. But, much as he wanted to, he could not rush to her side every time she felt distressed. She was the unwilling high priestess of a dragon cult, the slave of an Old God. He knew she was unhappy. And he had promised her he would not come back until he had an answer…until he could free her. And try as he had, he had come up with nothing. It grieved him greatly to think he might never find the solution.

The Warden knew how capable she was…that she could take care of herself. But it did not prevent his protective instincts from flaring. Damn it! He hated not being by her side…not being able to help her. He had every mage he knew working on it, but the waiting and his helplessness were killing him.

His thoughts were interrupted by a messenger. He read the note, and his heart leapt in his chest. Morrigan! Here? He raced back to his estate, thinking that was why the ring had been so active. She was here…she had found a way to free herself!

* * *

Flemeth tapped her foot impatiently. He was taking too long. She needed to calm herself. She could not afford to give herself away. She twisted the ring on her finger, glancing down at it absent-mindedly. It was an opal ring with a filigreed setting…not to her taste at all. She preferred the sparkling gems. Bah! Foolish girl and her tacky baubles! I am closer to much finer things than opal now.

She yanked the ring off her finger and tossed it in the disposal bin. She got up and wandered about the room ending up in front of the fireplace. She felt a shiver and stretched out her arms to warm her hands by the fire. This body was still adjusting to the loss of heat. It would be a few more weeks before equilibrium, but she would just have to dress more warmly until then.

A servant girl entered the room to empty the trash and clean. She saw the ring in the waste pile and asked Flemeth if she had dropped it by mistake…if she meant to throw it away.

"I have no need of such fool trinkets. Take it and be gone, girl," Flemeth answered roughly.

The young woman put it on and held out her hand, admiring it on her finger. 'Twas the finest thing she owned now. She smiled, thanked the witch profusely, and scurried out of the room, taking Morrigan with her.

* * *

The Warden was running now, unable to keep his casual calm anymore. Could it really be this easy? That she just shows up at his manor? No battles, no journeys? He could hardly believe it the way their lives had gone. Everything had been such a struggle. He felt it then and stopped, looking at the ring's unmistakable glow. Distress…anxiety. Intense frustration. Now? When she was safely here? He doubled his pace back to his castle.

* * *

He was too far away. Morrigan was beside herself. The servant girl had taken the ring and headed away from Flemeth. The proximity of the rings was everything. If they were not close enough, he would feel only her emotions. She would not be able to speak to him. She tried to reach Dekker, shouting frantically to warn him of Flemeth's presence in her body. But he could not hear her. She began to panic. If she could not warn him, he was dead. And so, too, was she.

* * *

The Warden bounded up the stairs towards the room where Flemeth waited. "Morrigan!" he called out. He thought he heard something…a woman calling in the distance, a faint noise, persistent. He shook his head, as though it was a ringing in his ears. But it would not go away.

Flemeth heard the Warden coming, calling Morrigan's name. And so, the game begins, she thought and smiled a cold, calculating smile. Then she immediately erased it from her features and put on her best 'damsel-in-distress' face and ran out into the hall to greet the Warden, her planned husband-to-be. "Warden!" she cried, throwing her arms about his neck.

The Warden embraced her, the sounds in his head growing fainter and finally disappearing altogether. He wondered briefly at it, then dismissed it in his happiness. "Morrigan," he murmured.

Flemeth told him her elaborate lie of her escape and her discovery of a way to free herself of the burning. She told him the God and Naursul had fallen out and destroyed each other and the cult. She had assisted, of course. The fool had believed everything. The way he looked at her, she could have told him the moon was made of cheese and he would have believed her. Bah! Love had curdled his brain. All the easier for me, she thought. Though she found herself tempted to test her moon cheese theory just to see his reaction. She laughed aloud, amused by her whimsy.

"What?" the Warden said, smiling broadly. He could hardly contain his joy to have her back.

"Nothing…I'm just so very happy, Warden. I wish for us to be together. Tell me you want it, too," Flemeth said, covering herself.

"I do. In fact, I have some wonderful news to tell you. You have been granted special dispensation by the Queen. You are no longer an apostate! We can be together without fear of the Chantry or Templars," he told her.

Flemeth feigned surprise. It was a key element of her plan. She could not inherit his titles, his lands as an apostate. She had heard this news and developed her plan accordingly. Freeing Morrigan had actually bought him a few more weeks of life. For she would already have slain him if she could not take all that he owned. She embraced him. "We are free to be married!" she cried.

The Warden was stunned at her directness…and her suggestion. He had not expected her to push for such a thing. He had thought he would have to convince her. But he was thrilled she was willing. But he could not marry her without telling her of Velanna. When he stumbled his way through his confession, Flemeth paused. Bah! She did not wish to hear of his dalliances or any other details to which she might have to make an appropriate response. "I care not for such things. I forgive you. Speak not of it again. Let us look forward and not on the past, shall we?" she said indifferently.

Dekker's brow furrowed. Her response was strange at best, not what he would have expected from Morrigan, who he knew to be jealous. But, in truth, he was so grateful she had forgiven him, he was willing to dismiss her surprising behavior.

Flemeth insisted they wed as soon as possible. She wished no grand event and wanted to take no chances that something would happen. The Warden was puzzled, but agreeable. Three days. It was decided. Three days and they would finally be together.

* * *

Something was definitely wrong with his ring. It wasn't working right anymore. It glowed wildly sometimes, giving him the wrong impression of Morrigan's mood. He sensed anguish and fear, but she seemed quite…happy? No…satisfied was the word. But Morrigan was different since she had been back. He couldn't quite pin it down. He supposed living with a dragon cult would have set her back, but while she was nice to him, almost syrupy sweet, he had seen her snap at others for no reason. And she had said things in passing that surprised him. Perhaps she was nervous about getting married. It was all minor things, but it plagued him. Maybe he would speak to her about it.

The Warden made his way up the hall nodding pleasantly to the servant girl as she approached. Suddenly, he heard Morrigan shouting his name and something about the ring. Her voice had a strange, far-away quality to it, but seemed close as though she was nearby. It was hard to describe. He whirled around and saw no one but the servant who had just passed by. He frowned.

Flemeth stepped into the hall. "Ah, there you are, my sweet. I want to discuss some details about tomorrow with you," she said.

Seeing her, the Warden assumed she had called him from the other room. "What about the ring? Is something wrong with this one, too?" he asked. Morrigan had bluntly told him the ring he had picked out for her would not do, and she had gone to choose her own. He had been disappointed. He'd thought he knew her tastes better. He had selected it thinking it was perfect for her. But she had wrinkled her nose at it and bought a more ostentatious ring. He would have to take his back to the merchant when he had time.

Flemeth's brow furrowed. What was the man talking about? "The ring I picked is fine, that is not what I wish to discuss." She proceeded to detail all the things that were being done wrong and how he should let go some of these pathetic excuses for servants. When she had finished her rant, she dismissed him and waltzed down the hall.

He shook his head in consternation. What about the ring? He was beginning to think he was hearing things. Perhaps after the wedding he should approach a physician.

* * *

Dekker was preparing for the wedding. It would be a small private ceremony at Morrigan's insistence. He had dressed in his finery and was gathering his things to go to the magistrate to meet Morrigan. He was startled when a young servant walked in.

"Oh, terribly sorry, sir. I thought you would be gettin' married by now. I'm just here to clean, but I'll come back," she said.

"No, that's alright. In truth, I'm just running a little late…for my own wedding. Shame on me," he chided himself with a smile, trying to put the girl at ease. She was a shy one, always looking as though she was putting someone out. "But I'll be gone in a moment, go on about your business. Don't mind me," he finished.

Then he heard her, "Dekker! The ring! I'm in the ring!" He whipped around…and Morrigan was not there, but he had heard her. It was **her**, he was certain of it. He stepped into the doorway and looked down the hall, seeing no one. "Dekker!" And he realized then, the sound seemed to be louder from within the room. He turned back and the servant girl was all he saw. What the…? "Child, do you hear someone calling?" he asked, feeling foolish.

"No sir, been pretty quiet here all day," she answered, going back to her cleaning.

He stepped closer to her and the voice that sounded like Morrigan became louder. "The ring! She has the ring! The fool child has the ring! Dekker!" Then he noticed his own ring was glowing and warm to his finger as it had been when he felt her in it. He was greatly confused now. He moved to the servant girl and saw that she wore a simple opal ring on her finger. But it was glowing as his was.

"Girl, where did you get that ring?" he asked.

"Sir, I swear. I didn't steal it. I found it in the bin, I did. I even asked the good lady, your betrothed, if it should be in there. If it were not a mistake. She said she had no need of it anymore and I could have it. I swear on me life, sir. You can ask her. Please sir, I'm tellin' the truth," she whined plaintively.

The girl seemed genuinely terrified…and truthful.

"Dekker! The ring! Get the ring!" Morrigan cried.

This was insane. He looked around again to convince himself Morrigan was not there. The girl did not hear her. The Warden heard her clearly now, unlike before when the voice seemed farther away, fainter. But her voice seemed to be coming from inside his head. Was he going mad? If not for the glow in the rings, he would have been sure of it. He did not understand his own actions, but he followed the voice's instructions. "Calm yourself, girl. I believe you, but there's been a mistake. You can't have that ring. It's…important to me. I'm sorry I scared you. Here are 20 sovereigns for the ring and your trouble," he said.

The girl's eyes got wide. 20 sovereigns! That were more than she made in half a year! She handed over the ring.

"Now run along and leave me be. And don't tell anyone about this, alright?" he added, not sure why. But he had no desire to be locked up as mentally feeble.

"Dekker!"

Both rings were glowing brightly now and he felt the heat emanating from them. "Morrigan?" he said uncertainly. "How is this…how are you talking through this ring? I can hear you in my head, but no one else can," he said, scowling. "And where are you? Are you at the magistrate's? What's so important about this ring? Why does it glow when my ring does?" he asked, rapidly firing off his questions as quickly as he thought of them. He was flummoxed.

"Dekker, please, be silent and let me speak. I know not the time we have. I am in the ring! 'Tis not **I** that is with you in Highever, 'tis Flemeth! She has taken my body..."

Dekker was stunned. He slumped into a chair, his knees buckling under the weight of it. No, it must be a trick, surely. "This is madness! Why should I believe you? I cannot see you, I do not know you to be real. And how can you manifest in the ring? What manner of demon are you? Flemeth is long dead. My Morrigan waits for me, spirit. We are to be wed, and no trick of yours will stop me," he declared.

He thought he heard a gasp, then nothing. He wondered if the demon had given up its trick. But then he heard something unexpected. What appeared to be sobbing. "Dekker, nooo…she will slay you," the voice that sounded like Morrigan said, choked with emotion.

It gave him pause.

"Pray, hear me. She **is** Flemeth. I told you long ago I did not think her dead…that she would return. I know not why she seeks to marry you. Perhaps it is your power, your money she desires. But when she has it, you are of no use to her anymore. She will surely wreak her revenge on you as she thinks she has on me. She returned to the brood and killed the Old God, then began the ritual to take possession of me. But I tricked her. As she stole my body, I stored my soul in the spirit charge ring and bound it to the ring I gave you, in hopes that I could tell you what has transpired. When the rings are close enough, I can communicate, else you will just feel a sense of me. Please, Dekker…" she pleaded.

The Warden was wavering…but it was so fantastic, he could scarcely believe it possible.

"I will tell you anything you wish to know…about our past together…I will prove my story," she offered, desperation in her voice now.

The Warden scoffed. "If you are a demon, you could know much. That is no proof," he countered.

"'Tis true," she admitted sadly. "But should the woman who calls herself Morrigan not also know these things? Ask her. Ask Flemeth of things only you and I would know. But have a care…if she thinks you suspect her she will destroy you then and there. You must be subtle…you must trick her into revealing her ignorance. Dekker, I know of no other way to convince you I speak the truth. If you do not believe me **then**, destroy the ring, for I have no chance to recover my body without you. And she will see you suffer, make no mistake…I could not bear to see it. Dekker, please! I…know that you love me. That you wish to be with me. But you must be sure, must you not? 'Tis a small thing I ask of you now. I beg you. We have been through much together…do not let her triumph now," she said, her voice breaking.

"I…will speak with her. But if she can answer…if she knows, I will destroy you," he said resolutely.

"So be it," she said softly, praying that Flemeth had not been lurking about in shapeshifted form spying on them back then…that the Warden would pick something she would not know. "But when she cannot answer, when she does not know…you must take the rings and leave Highever immediately, before Flemeth knows you are gone. I think I know of a way to get my body back, but we must travel far, and she must not suspect."

The Warden had taken the precaution of ordering a trusted messenger to interrupt their conversation if he was given the signal. The man would deliver an urgent message that would call the Warden away before the wedding. That was, of course, if Dekker found it necessary…he still had his doubts. Though he found much about the last few days disturbing, in truth. Morrigan had seemed different…more aloof, more judgmental, harsher – like the old Morrigan. But even the old Morrigan was hot-blooded, passionate. Since she had returned she seemed cooler, less interested in him…and just before their wedding. He had made excuses for her, attributing it to living with the dragon cult for 2 1/2 years, but now…And she had been extremely anxious to wed as soon as possible. By the Maker! Could she really be…?

Morrigan had kept silent for a time, absorbed in her own thoughts, but as he approached Flemeth in her body, she became apprehensive, and feared for him. She could not hold her tongue any longer. "Please be careful, my Warden. I love you more than you will ever know," she said softly.

It startled him and he stopped. In that moment, he knew he was looking at Flemeth and the woman he loved was in the ring. He swallowed hard and continued towards her, determined not to set off her alarms, but intent on hearing her fail his test.

"Morrigan," he said, taking her in his arms. "It's almost time, are you ready?" he asked casually.

"If you only knew how ready I am," Flemeth said ambiguously.

The Warden felt a cold chill run up his spine. Not from what she said, but how she said it. It felt more like a threat than an expression of excitement.

"Morrigan, I have to clear my conscience before we marry. I've been a little angry with you for that night after the Guardian of Andraste's Ashes put us through the test of faith. You knew I was upset, but you called me a fool and told me to grow up and put such useless emotions behind me. You wouldn't even lay with me that night. But I want you to know I think you were right. And I'm stronger for it," he said, pulling her to him. He held his breath then.

Flemeth hesitated, cursing in her head. She had heretofore brilliantly avoided any references to the past he shared with Morrigan, mostly by avoiding **him** when possible. But he had not asked her a question…he had simply repeated the facts of a prior incident and thanked her for some response Morrigan had made. It should be simple…agree and deflect to another topic. Flemeth bluffed…and made a critical error. "Well, you **were** being foolish, and I thought to teach you an important lesson. But enough of the past. For us there is only the future," she said, hoping to placate him and steer him away from any further discussion of their history together.

Even as he held her, the Warden blanched. Maker! It was Flemeth! The real Morrigan had comforted him, and they **had** made love. He felt physically sick. He had come within a few minutes of marrying Flemeth and sentencing the real Morrigan to an eternity in the ring. And Morrigan was right, Flemeth would have killed him…it was only a matter of when. He recovered himself and surreptitiously signaled for the messenger. Then he made himself smile and pulled away from Flemeth. "Yes, you're right. The future is what's important, now…being with the woman I love," he responded, but more to Morrigan than to Flemeth.

He heard Morrigan now. "She could not know what we shared, Dekker. But I will never forget it. You know the truth, then, do you not? She has revealed herself. You must leave, before she becomes suspicious."

The messenger approached him, "Urgent missive for you, sir!"

The Warden stepped away and read the false summons. "Morrigan, I'm so sorry. I must go. We shall have to postpone the wedding. There is an urgent matter I must attend to in Amaranthine involving the Chantry Templars," he said, looking as serious as he could.

He saw Flemeth pale. Good, he thought, she will not try to join me.

"I must go there immediately. You stay here. I will return as soon as I am able and we will be wed properly," he announced.

"But…but…we can surely be wed first and then you can go," Flemeth sputtered, unwilling to see her plan for the Warden be postponed.

"No, my love, I will not have it so. This is too important. It must be done right. We have waited so long to be together, surely we can wait a little longer? I will return shortly, and you will be my wife and we shall go away together so we cannot be interrupted. I will have it no other way," he said, kissing her on the forehead, and feeling revulsion as he did so.

The Warden walked away from Flemeth, a dumbfounded scowl marring her features. He left her there, the beautiful body of the woman he loved harboring the sinister soul of the woman he had sworn to kill. This is not over, Flemeth, he thought, gritting his teeth as he put as much distance between them as he could.

He told no one that Flemeth lurked in their midst. Knowledge was danger in this situation. They would be safer if they did not know…if she had to keep playing her game as Morrigan, awaiting her wedding. He packed quickly, made his excuses that he had urgent business in Amaranthine, and departed Highever. He brought only plain clothes and nothing to indicate he was a Grey Warden. It would not do to have the Order brought into this. This was personal and he would keep it so.

"Morrigan?" the Warden called.

"I am here, my Warden. And I am grateful you chose to listen, to believe me. You are safe for now. She will lay low for a time at least while she still has hope for her scheme. But if you wish to help me, we must travel to Cumberland, in the south of Nevarra, to the College of Magi."

And the Warden strung her ring around his neck and turned north towards the country of Nevarra, for he **did** wish to help her.


	13. Chapter 13

**13.**

"**The Two-Ring Circus"**

"_The whole country is filled with artistry, from the statues of heroes that litter the streets in even the meanest villages to the glittering golden College of Magi in Cumberland."_

-From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of A Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi

They kept off the roads, and out of the towns, intent on avoiding others if possible. He needed no one to know the "Hero of Ferelden" was headed to Nevarra. Morrigan told him everything as they traveled, how it had come to this, and how he could help her. He was astounded. And greatly relieved he had not fallen victim to Flemeth's plan.

The Warden told Morrigan of her freedom…that she was no longer considered an apostate. She had been a prisoner for the last two years…first of the cult, then of the ring. She had no way to know she was no longer a hunted enemy of both church and state. And the news had fairly overwhelmed her. She could not have imagined a life where she did not have to constantly peer over her shoulder, a life in which she did not have to be ever vigilant, ever watchful…where sleep would be restful - more than a state of semi-wakefulness. It would be alien to her and exceedingly welcome. Her Warden had changed her life in ways she could never have hoped for. She could scarcely find the words to thank him.

Dekker had not brought his Grey Warden armor to avoid recognition. He had been fortunate he had not run across much opposition on the journey to Nevarra…a few bandits, some beasts. His skills were sufficient to dispatch them all with ease. Morrigan gave him a harder time than they had, he thought, laughing to himself. He suspected she was growing impatient with her self-imposed exile, and her mood was not as light as he would have it.

"What? 'Tis something amusing? Do tell," Morrigan said, eager to break the monotony of being captive in the ring.

Oops, the Warden thought, have to remember she hears everything I say. "Nothing…nothing. Just thinking of a joke that Oghren told me," he said innocently.

"Ah yes, the besotted dwarf. You have seen him, then, since the archdemon's death? How fares he?" Morrigan asked genuinely.

"Yes, I…wait. I thought you didn't like him?" Dekker asked, surprised.

"I…perhaps I was too harsh…I did not seek friendship and kept all at arm's length. I…did not wish to form attachments…but…I clearly failed in that endeavor, my love," she admitted.

The Warden smiled.

"The dwarf was…entertaining…if not too crude and lecherous for my taste. But I wish him no ill will. He was well?" she inquired.

"Yes, he's fine…same ole Oghren. He settled down, married his old flame Felsi and they have a child. But there's no taking the fight out of Oghren, and he helped me out after the Blight. He's a Grey Warden now," Dekker told her.

"Oho!" she laughed. "The Grey Wardens are sorely in need of recruits, now, are they? Oghren…a Grey Warden, and married again, eh? 'Tis truly hard to comprehend," Morrigan repeated, bemused.

He smiled, imagining her eyebrows arched and her head shaking in disbelief. "He is a good fighter, and loyal. I value him as a companion," he said, feeling the need to defend his dwarven friend.

"I meant no offense, Warden. 'Tis true, he fought well, and bravely, even with his belly full of ale. And I am grateful for his loyalty to you. 'Tis a quality you engender in those around you," she said proudly.

He wished he could have kissed her then. "He asked about you, encouraged me to keep trying to find you. I think he had the hots for you, with all that teasing. You have that effect on those around **you**," he said, smiling.

"Did he, now? I hope you told him I am spoken for, my Warden," she said softly.

Dekker laughed, "In fact, I did. But he knew it already. We were hardly secretive that we were together."

"No, but **Leliana** never seemed to understand that you and I were together. I tried to warn her I do not share…but still she persisted with her flirting, her cloying! Hmmph! 'Twas like talking to a stone with a silly smile painted on it. All subtlety was lost on her. She was fortunate I did not turn her into something…less desirable. The way she hung on you…on your every word. 'Twas infuriating!" Morrigan railed.

The Warden laughed heartily, "Down, girl! You got me. I'm yours. Leliana was never a threat to you. You do not have to share. I want no one but you. I'll **have** no one but you." As soon as he said it, the pangs of guilt shot through him. There had been Velanna, in a moment of weakness.

"There…there has been no one, then? You have…been with no one since…I left?" Morrigan asked hesitantly…wanting to know, but strangely afraid of the answer.

Damn it, he thought. Not now, not like this, when I cannot look into her eyes, when I cannot hold her, when she cannot feel my regret, my sincerity. I cannot tell her now.

He intended to tell her…when he could find the words, when the time was right for such an admission. He had already tried to admit his guilt, but it had been Flemeth he revealed himself to. He knew what she wanted to hear. She was a jealous woman, fiery and passionate. But her voice now was soft and plaintive…afraid. She would pretend indifference, he was sure, but she would not be indifferent. He could not tell her now. He would not be able to make her understand now. "I have never loved anyone but you, you are the only woman I can think about…the only woman I **want** to be with," he said, choosing his words carefully. What he had said was true. But he had lied to her just the same, and he knew it, and hated himself for it. He would tell her the truth when all this was over. Somehow he would find a way to tell her…to apologize. And he hoped she would understand.

He had lied to her then. Morrigan sensed it. He hesitated a moment too long…selected his words too carefully. And because she thought him unaccustomed to the practice of lying, he did it poorly. It was strange for her to be on the other end of a falsehood. She understood how it felt now…to be lied to and know it. The anguish it induced. She felt grief for the times she had put the Warden through it…and now, for herself.

She felt…hurt. But more from the lie than the act. The lie because she had not expected it from him, a man of virtue, a moral champion, though **he** would not say so. She had come to believe all that he told her…that he had always been honest with her…something she could respect and admire, for it had never been so with her. But she had wished to start with her Warden…being truthful with him always.

The lie brought her more anguish because it made the act seem important…as though it had mattered to him. For she could not begrudge him physical gratification with another…she had left him, forbidden him to ever see her again. In truth, **she** had lain with another, though she had not wished to. 'Twas not the act so much as the covering of it. Did this other woman mean something to him? If so, why was he prepared to marry Flemeth, thinking it her? And why was he here with her now? No. Everything he had done had been to help her. Her Warden had risked himself time and again for her. He **did** love her and as evidence, he was on the road to Cumberland now. But he **had** been with another…and hidden it.

They would speak of this. They must. He had told her that the truth was something they must have between them if they were to trust each other…and she had trusted him. She wanted to again, but he must tell her the truth. When this was over and she had her body back, they would speak of it.

* * *

The Warden had arranged passage on a ship from Jader, a city north of Orzammar, to Cumberland, Nevarra. Cumberland was one of the largest cities in Thedas, capitalizing on its location on the Minanter River that gave it access to trade with the rest of the Free Marches and beyond to fuel it's growth.

As they sailed into the harbor, both the Warden and Morrigan marveled at the beauty of the city. It was architecturely exquisite – statues, buildings, all man-made structures were expertly designed, visually appealing. Marble was everywhere, as though it were the cheapest of commodities and as common as granite. At the edge of the city, they saw a vast necropolis…a massive collection of tombs and crypts…a city of the dead adjoining the city of the living. Nevarrans were followers of Andraste, but unlike most of her other worshippers, they did not burn their dead. They constructed elaborate tomb complexes to house their preserved remains, some so enormous they were as estates, with palaces, gardens, and stables. All to honor the dead…unused monuments to the silent bodies they harbored. It was hard for the Warden to imagine that the necropolis outside Nevarra City was even grander. At the center of the city, lay the College of Magi, its massive golden dome visible even from the port.

The Warden walked briskly towards the crowded open air market just inside the harbor.

"We must go to the College of Magi with all haste. I feel…strange…tired. Perhaps it is wisest for us to accomplish this task as soon as possible," Morrigan said.

"The first thing I need to do is get supplies. I left hurriedly to avoid Flemeth and did not carry all that I normally would. I need armor and it would not do to run out of health potions in the midst of battle," he told her.

"No…uh…that's not a…uh…good time to run out of health potions. You should…uh…definitely get some supplies…" a voice said uncertainly next to him.

The Warden was startled and turned to see a man leaning against the corner of the building a few feet away. Dekker was embarrassed the man had assumed the Warden was talking to him.

"Perhaps, my love, when we are surrounded by the local populace, you should be more discreet, else they take you for a madman conversing with himself and lock you up," Morrigan said laughing.

Maker, just to hear the sound of her laughter again made him smile.

"'Tis best if we restrict our conversation to when we are alone. If you must speak to me in public, it would be wiser to disguise your speech in some way so that I will know 'tis meant for me. For example, begin your phrase with, 'It is said…' or 'Do you not think…' so those around you will think you address them, and I will know your comment is for me. They may think you odd, but not mad. Hmmm? 'Tis a brilliant idea, I think. We shall follow this plan until I can regain my body," Morrigan announced, more as a declaration than a suggestion.

"Al…right…," he mumbled under his breath, to avoid being heard.

"What? Were you speaking to me? I am uncertain, as you did not speak the appropriate code first. Would you care to try again?" she teased him.

"Uh…it…is said...that…uh…that is alright," he stammered, scowling at the nonsensical nature of his statement. He also could not help but notice the raised eyebrows and embarrassed look of the man who had just passed him in the marketplace. The Warden rolled his eyes. He heard Morrigan laugh with delight, sensing his great discomfort.

"And do you not think I look the fool, speaking thus?" he said to Morrigan, perturbed with her new communication method.

The man at the weapons stall next to the Warden studied him for a moment. "No, no, good sir, you are no fool, certainly. A bit eccentric, perhaps, but no fool. I'm sure you know a fine deal when you see one. Look at this excellent dwarven axe, for instance…"

The Warden rolled his eyes again and sighed. He was not managing well. "No…no thanks," he said, wandering away from the vendor.

Morrigan snickered. "And do you not think, my love, that you are using the system I have taught you incorrectly? I see you are being given a wider berth in the market now. Do try not to end up in a cell, my Warden. It will make things that much the harder," she said sweetly, hardly able to contain her merriment.

When they were alone, he would have to revise their system so he did not look the complete fool, though he was not sure she had not engineered it so. "It is said that there are consequences to our little jests in life…that one may laugh now, but when it is all said and done, that there will be a price to pay," he said to no one in particular, but drawing strange looks from the market crowd.

"Do you not think it a pity you are unable to punish me now, when your indignation is high? I am not concerned overmuch. I suspect you will forgive me everything… that by the time 'tis all over and we have recovered my body that you will wish to do other things besides punish me. Is it not so, my Grey Warden?" she murmured seductively.

Damn her, he thought smiling. She was completely right. He could not suppress a hearty laugh then…which drew yet a few more stares.

Odd, indeed, he thought.

He replenished his food and health supplies. He needed no weapons. He had brought his sword of star metal, StarFang, The Rose's Thorn dagger, a superior Dalish longbow of dragonthorn, and a fine heavy shield of red steel. But he needed suitable armor, so he purchased an excellent set of medium weight dragonbone armor that he thought would offer a good compromise between speed and strength. He couldn't help but take great satisfaction that it was dragonbone, after all that Morrigan had been put through. Now he felt prepared for any confrontation. And he headed for the sparkling dome that hopefully housed the tome that would free Morrigan and end the miserable life of the monster who had called herself Morrigan's mother.


	14. Chapter 14

**14.**

"**Soul Searching – The Fellowship of the Rings"**

Morrigan was constantly talking to him, giving him basic directions while he was trying to talk to the head of College of Magi Pentaghast Library about the tome.

"Do you not think it is difficult to understand the speech of one man when there is another constantly speaking over his words?" the Warden asked the library custodian, indicating the chanting monks nearby, but directing his words to Morrigan.

"Yes, let us move to the other room where we can be heard easily," the man said leading him further into the magnificent building.

There was silence for a moment. "I…am sorry. I am anxious. I speak more when 'tis so. We are close now, I feel it," Morrigan said softly, unable to keep the anxiety from her voice.

"I know," he said softly, ignoring the system, wishing he could comfort her. "It is said this will all be over soon enough, and things will be as they were," he finished encouragingly.

The Warden explained what book he was looking for and that it was very old. The custodian thought and said, "Hmmm...it may be in our Ancient Texts Collection, but only senior members of the Circle are allowed access."

Dekker winced. Always an obstacle. "Would you at least look to see if you have it? I would be very grateful," he said persuasively.

"Very well, I suppose that wouldn't hurt," said the man. He scurried off.

Morrigan spoke now, unable to hide her dejection, "To be so close and be blocked by rank and politics…"

Dekker answered resolutely, "We are not blocked. I will not let us be. If the tome is here, we will get to it if I have to steal it, I promise you."

"Thank you, Dekker," she said softly.

The balding little man returned smiling. "Yes, we have it. It is very old, indeed, very dusty. A wondrous tome to be sure," the studious fellow marveled. "But as I said, only senior Circle mages…"

The Warden pulled out a bag of gold sovereigns. "I need only study it for a short time. I am looking for something very specific. Would 50 sovereigns make me look more like a senior Circle mage?" he asked politely.

The man's eyes grew wide and he glanced about nervously. "Why, yes sir, I'm sorry I didn't recognize you before," he apologized. "Right this way," he said signalling the Warden to follow. They entered the Ancient Texts Room in the dome itself and Dekker's jaw dropped…floor to ceiling were gigantic bookshelves accessible only by a monstrous rolling ladder. Thousands of volumes of aged, musty manuscripts lined the walls of the great dome. It was a magnificent sight. He could understand their desire to protect these tomes from the average careless citizen.

The custodian brought them the book and disappeared as though not wanting to be seen with them. With a deep breath, the Warden opened the dusty volume and began searching for a way to restore Morrigan to her body. After a time, Morrigan shouted, "Tis here! This is what we need! Dekker…"

The Warden smiled. Thank the Maker!

There was silence for a few moments, prompting Dekker to seek her out, "Morrigan?"

"I…am sorry. I feel…overcome…weak. Perhaps 'tis the nature of being in the charge. Let us read of this," she said.

"Dekker!" Morrigan gasped suddenly.

"I see it," he said, swallowing hard.

They had both seen it…the passage in the tome explaining the temporary nature of the spirit charge…that the soul within would have to be harvested as quickly as possible, as it was in a constant state of decay within the stone. The essence would slowly weaken, until the spirit finally dissipated if it was not freed from the charge. The magic was so old, handed down through generations, so rarely used, that Morrigan had been unaware of its limitation. Her knowledge was incomplete.

"'Tis why I have been feeling so tired, my energy drained. I am certain of it now. Dekker, we must hurry!" Morrigan said anxiously.

He copied the page and ran out of the College of Magi, determined to make haste back to Highever. But the minute he had cleared the gates of the golden domed building, he was grabbed by several armed guards.

"There he is! I knew it! It's him! He's the one that killed them! The Warden I told you all about! Now you will believe me! He is with the cultists who killed my cousin Torcuil and all our men!" a man shouted hysterically.

It was the dragon hunter that had recognized Dekker at the lair of Naursul. Damn it! Not now! he thought. The man was wild-eyed in his lust for vengeance, but also clearly afraid of him.

"Take him away. The magistrate will put an end to this traitorous murderer," Maldor Pentaghast, least daunting of the Nevarran Pentaghast dragon hunters, said haughtily.

As Dekker was dragged past the man, he leaned over and growled, "**You** attacked **me**! I simply defended myself!"

Maldor recoiled in fear. He wanted no part of this Grey Warden, even in shackles. He had seen enough of what the Warden could do to last a lifetime.

They threw Dekker in the dank Nevarran dungeon, stripping him of his weapons and armor. Maldor walked up to his cell, brimming with confidence and superiority now that there were inch-thick white steel bars between them. "So, Warden, not so tough now, are we?" he taunted.

The Warden glared at him and stepped forward to the man menacingly, grabbing the bars, "You fool! I'm no cultist! I was their prisoner!" he barked.

Pentaghast jumped back, intimidated. Then he noticed the rings. They both emitted a faint glow. "Guards! Why did you leave these rings on him? You'll not use any magic to get away! Take them!" Maldor ordered.

In that moment, Dekker knew the greatest fear of his life. "No, please…they're not…I can't get away with them. Don't take them…they're important to me," he pleaded.

Pentaghast smirked. "Then all the more reason to take them away," he sneered viciously.

The Warden fought wildly. Maldor ripped the chain holding the spirit charge ring off his neck. It took four men to pin him down and get the ring off his finger. He reached in vain for the spirit charge as they held him down.

"Dekker!" Morrigan cried out plaintively.

They practically broke his finger yanking the ring she had given him off his hand. "Morrigan!" he shouted frantically. But his call to her was met with silence. The bond was broken. He heard her no more. He felt her no more. She had been ripped away from him and he was devastated. She was trapped in the ring…dying. And he was powerless to do anything to help her.

"Please…please give me back the rings. You don't understand!" the Warden begged.

"I think I'll take these," he said, "it's the least you owe me for killing my cousin. And when the magistrate is through with you, you won't have need of them anymore. Nevarran law is swift and harsh, unlike your weak Fereldan system. You will pay the price for killing my comrades and clansmen," he said. Maldor examined the rings and scoffed at the simple rosewood band Morrigan had given to the Warden. It no longer even appeared magical once off Dekker's finger. "Here," he said to the jailer, "put this with his other effects, I have no need of this pathetic bauble. But I'll keep the other piece."

"No!" Dekker shouted, "You can't have it! It's mine!"

"It's mine **now**," Maldor said in a mocking tone. Then he spun on his heel and walked out of the dungeon.

The Warden was beside himself. Morrigan was getting farther away from him with every second that passed…and weaker. He had to find a way to get out of prison, to reclaim the rings.

* * *

Dekker was brought manacled before the High Magistrate of Cumberland the next morning. The charges levied against him were read and he was asked for a plea. There was no point in trying to stay anonymous anymore. They knew who he was. He decided to finally take advantage of the title given him, unwanted at the time, but needed now, he thought. It was time to get some practical use from his ridiculous "Hero of Ferelden" legend.

"Magistrate," he said bowing respectfully, "I humbly ask you to hear me out."

The Magistrate nodded, "Speak, Warden."

"This is a travesty…a mistake. I have been brought up on charges of which I am innocent. You must release me immediately. I have urgent business back in Ferelden," he demanded with all authority and persuasiveness. "I am Dekker Cousland, Commander of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, Teyrn of Highever, Arl of Amaranthine, and some call me the 'Hero of Ferelden'. I call Queen Anora my friend. I am no dragon cultist! Is it possible this court truly believes that I would have joined a dragon cult after I just slayed the archdemon? 'Tis prepostorous! Surely you see this, a man of your position and intelligence," Dekker said convincingly.

"You make a strong case, Warden. There is no reason for you to behave so. But I have two witnesses who say you were there and fought with the cultists. What say you to this?" the High Magistrate asked.

"I **was** there. I do not deny this. But I was there searching for a woman who was a prisoner of the cult. 'Twas a personal matter, so I chose not to wear my Warden garb. I was captured. The woman I was there to find was trying to help me escape when the dragon hunters attacked. She told them I was not a cultist, but a prisoner. They wouldn't listen to reason. We only defended ourselves when we were attacked," he explained.

The High Magistrate called on Maldor. "Is this true? Did they tell you they were prisoners?"

Maldor stumbled, "Well…yes…but Torcuil did not believe them. He thought…she was lying…to…protect him…"

"As to the other man…he is only here to bear witness against me because I spared his life when I could have taken it. He was unarmed and I let him go," the Warden continued.

The High Magistrate then looked to the second man who had survived the attack on Naursul's lair. The man bowed his head in shame and nodded the truth of the Warden's claim.

Dekker said, "When Queen Anora hears of this, there will be repercussions for both our countries. Release me now and we will speak no more of it. It is an understandable mistake, and my friend Anora need not be told. But if you do not free me immediately…I cannot be responsible for the consequences to both our countries, for my wrongful imprisonment will not stand in Ferelden."

The High Magistrate couldn't stand the Pentaghasts. He was one of the few men of position who was not of their clan. Most of them were arrogant fools, he thought, but they were powerful and he had to tread carefully when dealing with them. But this was a delicate situation. He did not wish to bring his country into conflict with Ferelden. This man was not just the 'Hero of Ferelden'. He was a hero to all Thedas. He would not be part of dragon cult. That idiot Pentaghast! Maldor was a coward and an imbecile and a man of dubious moral character. Why were the ones who wielded the **real** power always fools or corrupt, while honest men like him had to fight for everything? Hmmph! Because the fools had position and the corrupt forced their way to the top. And because the Pentaghasts controlled everything in Nevarra. But not this time, he thought. This time a Pentaghast had gone too far…he had placed his country in a precarious position. There was a potential for war here. This Warden was a powerful, beloved man in his country and had the ear of the Queen. And in truth, the Magistrate believed him. Maldor's story just did not make sense. And he would not be responsible for bringing Nevarra into a war with Ferelden for the sake of bowing and scraping to an inferior just because his name was Pentaghast. They had enough trouble with Orlais. He would talk to the clan leader. The High Magistrate was certain the man would agree with his decision. Maldor was not the brightest of the Pentaghasts and most of his clansmen knew it.

"I have reached a decision. There is, in my mind, no chance that a man of such sterling reputation as the Grey Warden Commander, the 'Hero of Ferelden', would be involved in a dragon cult or would have attacked these men unprovoked. I believe his claim of self-defense, and I dismiss this case. Release the Warden immediately," he said, taking a special satisfaction out of Maldor's stammering and sputtering over the verdict.

"Thank you for your wisdom, Magistrate," the Warden said, nodding respectfully as his shackles were removed.

Dekker's personal effects were returned, but Morrigan's spirit charge ring was not among them. He slid the rosewood ring back onto his finger reverently, clutching it in gratitude for its return. He paused briefly, hoping it would give him the glow he had become accustomed to…the feeling of her…but it gave no sign. He tried not to be alarmed by its lack of activity, but he could not help feeling apprehensive. There was no time to waste. He must get the spirit charge back.

* * *

The hooded cloak he wore disguised him completely. He watched and waited and followed until Maldor walked alone down a dark alley. Before Pentaghast knew what had happened, his back was against a wall and a dagger was pressed to his throat. He felt a small trickle of blood stream down his neck. Maldor could not see the face of the man behind the dagger, but he knew who it was. And he wondered why he was still alive.

"Where is it?" the Warden growled, using all his self-control not to press the knife into the man's throat.

"Wha…what?" he stuttered.

"My hand tires. I may slip at any moment. But perhaps you do not value your life as much as I thought a coward like you would," Dekker said menacingly.

"No, I…what? The ring? That worthless trinket? That's what this is about?" Maldor asked, sneering. His words were cut off by the dagger pressing into his windpipe.

"Sneer again and I will end your miserable life most unpleasantly. The ring…give it back. **Now**. I will not ask you again," the Warden said ominously.

Maldor was genuinely frightened now…because he no longer had it. "I…I don't have it…I sold it," he whined pathetically.

Dekker felt rage rise up in him. And fear. "Who? Who did you sell it to? Take me to him! You will help me find it! The consequences to you if I cannot recover my ring will be great. I warn you now…I will slay you if you do or say anything untoward," he threatened.

Maldor nodded, swallowing hard, and wiped the blood from his neck. He led the Warden to a stall in the open market at the port. The merchant had sold the ring to an old mage, a well-known local man, who seemed very excited to find it. The Warden panicked. That meant the man knew what he had…that it was no ordinary piece of jewelry. According to the tome at the College of Magi, the soul in an occupied spirit charge could be replaced with another essence, destroying the existing soul. He grabbed Maldor and they raced to the mage's home.

The Warden banged on the door loudly. There was no answer. He banged again. "I'm busy! Come back tomorrow!" he heard someone shout through the door. Dekker ran around the side of the house to a window and saw an old man holding the spirit charge ring up to the light, twisting and turning it…studying it. Then he laid it on the table and started to raise his arms. Maker, no! the Warden thought. There was no time to get back to the door. He had to interrupt the man now. He grabbed Maldor by the scruff of the neck and sent him crashing him through the window, startling the old mage and stopping his incantation.

Dekker leaped in behind the stunned and groggy Pentaghast and apologized to the man whose home he had just invaded. "Forgive me! I will repay you for that, but I had to stop you. I must have that ring back. It is mine!"

"Dekker!" Morrigan shouted with all her strength, overjoyed to hear his voice again. She had feared the worst. She should have known he could not be stopped.

"Morrigan! I hear you, but just barely. You are…weaker?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yes…I…do not think…I have much time…" she struggled to say.

The old mage frowned. "Young man…I don't know who you are or why you hooligans have burst into my home like this, but I can assure you I purchased this ring just yesterday from…"

"I know, I'm not accusing you. The ring was stolen from me by this man and he sold it to the merchant who sold it to you. Please…I will pay you far more than you paid for it. I must have it back!" the Warden entreated.

"I'm terribly sorry, but I need this to perform my experiments. It is very special, this ring. It is not for sale," the mage said.

Dekker was losing patience. "I know what it is! You cannot use it! You will kill her! There is a woman's essence already stored in the ring. And she is dying. Please! You must give it back to me!" he begged.

The old mage looked at the ring and began to comprehend. The glow, though faint, was unmistakeable. His old eyes were growing weak. He had not noticed it before. He did not realize he had purchased an occupied spirit charge.

The Warden felt his desperation rising. "Please, the woman trapped in that ring…her body was stolen and she thought to save herself by storing her own soul in the ring. We can return her to her form now, but I **must** have the ring. Please…I…I love her. I will do anything to get her back," he pleaded to the old man.

"I was in love once," the old mage said, his eyes growing misty. He took pity on the Warden. "Very well, you may have the ring. But promise me you'll save the lass," he finished.

"I will not rest until she is free. I swear it," Dekker said with conviction.

"What is her name?" the mage asked gently.

"Morrigan," the Warden replied, his voice filled with emotion.

"How long has she been in the charge?" he asked.

"Too long. She grows weaker every passing day. Her voice grows more distant," Dekker said with distress.

"I thought as much. The glow is faint. You must hurry. But you say you can speak to her? Would you ask her when she is free, if she would share her knowledge of the charge with an old man, sometime? My curiosity knows no bounds," he asked.

The Warden paused, then smiled. "She said she would be most grateful if you would allow her to come back and thank you properly. And she will share all she knows," he said to the old man, who beamed in response.

"She is pretty, this woman of yours?" the mage asked.

"Breathtaking," the Warden replied, grinning ear-to-ear.

"Ah, good. These old eyes would welcome some pleasant scenery. 'Tis been a long time since I have pulled my nose out of my books and experiments," he replied wistfully.

The Warden turned to Maldor. "You will pay him for the ring. 100 sovereigns. **Now**," he ordered in no uncertain terms.

"What? That's fifty times what I got for it! I won't give him that!" Maldor whined petulantly.

The Warden's eyes narrowed threateningly.

"I mean…I shouldn't have to…that's a lot of money," Maldor moaned.

"Fifty times what you got for a **stolen** ring that you sold **illegally**? Perhaps you should give him 100 times what it is worth." the Warden said menacingly.

"No, no…that is fair…very fair…a fair price if ever I heard one," Maldor stammered, afraid to argue any further. He gave the old mage 100 sovereigns.

The Warden turned back to the old mage. "You should be able to do a lot of experiments with that. Thank you…I am eternally in your debt. Fare thee well," he said sincerely.

"Great good fortune, young man," the old mage replied.

Dekker grabbed Maldor and pulled him roughly out of the house. He glared at the Pentaghast. "I will return when Morrigan is safe. If any harm comes to the old man while I am gone, it will be your hide that pays the price. Do you understand? He will have no misfortune, no injury, no sudden loss of finance. You will leave him alone…and all your kin will leave him alone. Are we clear? In fact, you had better hope he does not die of natural causes…" the Warden warned him.

Dekker's meaning was not lost on Maldor, fool that he was. His eyes grew wide.

"I am releasing you on this, but do not test my patience. Leave the old man be. This is over. And I suggest, if you ever see me again, you walk the other way…quickly," the Warden said ominously. He raised his eyebrows in expectation of an answer.

Maldor nodded, his fear rushing back into him at the not-so-veiled threat the Warden had just issued. Then he ran wildly as far away as he could get.

The Warden set out for Highever, praying Flemeth was still there. But first he had to stop at Vigil's Keep and get Velanna. He needed a mage to perform the ritual…one who would not be afraid of Flemeth. And he didn't think Velanna was afraid of anyone.


	15. Chapter 15

**15.**

"**A Body to Die For"**

It was bizarre, this feeling of dissipating. There was no real physical sensation, of course, merely a weakness. More a feeling of being less permanent, even in the curious world she occupied now. Perhaps the strangest part was that she was able to watch her own life force fading in the Warden's ring. His ring glowed much dimmer now. She could literally see herself slowly dying. As she faded, so too did her magic. Morrigan could feel the communication between them growing fainter as she ebbed. She was struggling to make herself heard by the Warden now. She was so tired…so very tired. If she could just rest…just for a few minutes…

The Warden felt the same desperation…the same sense of urgency that Morrigan did. He, too, could see the glow waning in both rings and his panic rose proportionally. He had to get to Flemeth quickly. He quickened his pace.

* * *

Flemeth was uneasy now…borderline suspicious. It had been many days since the Warden had left, promising to take care of his business in Amaranthine quickly and return to her. But he had not returned and she had heard no word. She had decided to go to there herself to see what was afoot. When she had arrived in Amaranthine, she was surprised to find that the Warden was not there, had not been there, and was not expected. As far as they knew, there was no issue with the Chantry Templars. Flemeth wasn't sure what to make of this…whether the Warden knew and had lied to her, or if there was another explanation. If he knew it was her, why had he not attacked her then, when he had armed men around him? It made no sense to her. But he had left suddenly and in seeming good spirits, with a promise to return and marry her. No, if the Warden knew who she was, what she had done to Morrigan, his rage would be unmatched, and he would not be able to suppress his urge to slay her. He did not know, Flemeth convinced herself. There was something else going on.

She had decided to go back to Highever and wait to see how things unfolded. Her hunger for the Cousland titles and fortune was great and she was not willing to give them up unless she had to. She did not fear the Warden, for she believed her power supreme and thought he could be easily dispatched should the need arise to alter her plan. So Flemeth in Morrigan-form returned to Highever. She would bide her time, but she would be wary. And she would watch for any sign of foul intention.

* * *

The Warden neared Highever. He had noticed with growing apprehension the spirit charge had begun to flicker. He had to reassure himself that Morrigan was still there. She answered him, but she seemed so weak…so tired…every word a struggle. He glanced at Velanna, pointing at the ring. She nodded gravely, understanding the significance of the ring's unsteady glow. They began to run to reach the Cousland estate as quickly as possible.

* * *

The poison was ready. She had been working on it for a week. Quiet Death…a wonderfully foul mixture of poisons that were each deadly in their own right, Flemeth thought, a sinister smile curling her lips. She would begin administering it as soon as he came back, whenever that was. Flemeth had begun to think she needed to end him as quickly as was feasible. She did not like the way this whole thing was going, and the sooner she married him and gained his titles, the sooner she could be rid of him. She would dispense the poison in small doses meant to weaken him, with one massive dose at the end when they were alone and he was already beginning to fail. There would be no suspicion. She was ready for him.

* * *

The Warden had warned Velanna of Flemeth's brilliance. The old witch had not survived this long without a highly developed intuition and keen sense of what went on around her. They would need to be careful not to give themselves away. It was critical that they had everything in place before they made their move. They could not afford to do battle with Flemeth for fear of damaging Morrigan's body. They must catch her by surprise.

The Warden had hoped to sneak in and make arrangements before Flemeth knew he was back. But she had been waiting and watching and she wanted to gauge the situation as quickly as possible. She ran out to greet him.

"Warden!" Flemeth cried with false enthusiasm. "I thought you would never get back!" she chastised, throwing her arms about his neck.

"Forgive me, Morrigan. Things took longer than I thought," Dekker answered noncommittally.

"I became worried and ventured to Amaranthine and did not find you there," Flemeth said coyly. "Where did you go?" she asked, observing him carefully for a reaction.

The Warden's heart skipped a beat. He had not foreseen this possibility. Lying was not an art at which he was talented. Nor, in truth, did he wish to be. In fact, he had little experience with it. But now he was faced with a situation in which it was desperately needed. He opened his mouth to speak, not fully knowing what he was going to say. Fortunately for the Warden, Velanna leaped in to rescue him before his fumbling revealed their ruse.

"Oh, Morrigan, I'm afraid that's my fault. He was headed to Amaranthine over some silly squabble of the Templars, and I waylaid him to assist me in an urgent personal matter. I hope you understand. I did not mean to postpone your wedding any longer than was necessary. I hope you will forgive me. I am Velanna, a mage with the Wardens at Vigil's Keep," Velanna said sweetly.

Flemeth glared at her. She had hoped to catch the Warden in a lie…or be convinced of her safety. But this Velanna woman had saved him. She finally nodded curtly.

The Warden almost gave them away to hear Velanna speak so. She was not given to such syrupy tones and it had surprised him. But Flemeth knew nothing of Velanna's tones. He gathered his wits about him. "I'm sorry, Morrigan. Velanna has done much for us and I needed to help her with this. But I have returned, and all is well. Now we can proceed with the wedding," he assured Flemeth, his stomach turning at the thought.

Flemeth relaxed slightly. The Warden did not seem to be on edge or unnerved. "Ah, well then, my darling. I have everything ready to go at a moment's notice, so we can be wed on the morrow," she said joyfully.

Dekker swallowed hard. "Tomorrow? I…have just returned from a journey. I thought I would rest for a few days," he said awkwardly.

"Bah! You'll have plenty of time to rest before then. I have taken care of all the details. You need do nothing but relax," she said, grabbing his arm in a cloying manner. "There will be a feast tonight. We will celebrate with wine and song and on the morrow we will be married," she told him with authority.

Flemeth did not leave his side the rest of the day. Dekker had no opportunity to make the arrangements he needed to in order to prepare for the ritual. Velanna recognized the situation for what it was. The witch Flemeth would not let the Warden out of her sight until they were married.

Damn her! She would not leave him alone for a moment! She even insisted on being at his side as they dressed for dinner. Flemeth made excuses that she had missed him terribly and couldn't stand to be away from him for another minute. Flemeth was not even attempting to do a Morrigan impersonation. Morrigan would not be fawning over him so. But it was clear the old witch was not entirely comfortable…she suspected something and was intent on not allowing him to go unchaperoned until she could marry him. It made him ill to know the woman he was spending all his time with was Flemeth, but more disturbing to him was that he had heard nothing from Morrigan in hours. He strained to hear anything, but he could not hear her voice…and it terrified him. Worse still, he could not speak to her with Flemeth hanging on him. He had hidden the spirit charge cord under his shirt, but he periodically glanced at the ring Morrigan had given him to see some sign of her. But if it glowed, he could not discern it.

* * *

Dinner was an elegant affair, if somewhat intimate. There were few guests. Flemeth had been careful not to invite unwanted scrutiny. She wore a beautiful green satin dress that reminded her of her days in Conobar's circle when she was the beauty of Highever. Flemeth noted with satisfaction that she had received more than a few approving and some downright lustful looks from the men at the function. Once she was rid of this Warden…

The more time Dekker spent with her, the more he knew he wasn't with Morrigan. And it was becoming increasingly more difficult to hide his disgust. But he couldn't afford to alarm Flemeth…he knew better than to startle a witch. So he played along, intent on concealing his revulsion.

"Here, my love, I found this wine that I thought you would enjoy," Flemeth said, thrusting a glass of deep red wine at him after dinner.

Velanna had hovered about the Warden casually, trying to appear as though she wasn't. Her elven nose was sensitive to the herbs and roots of the forest and she immediately picked up on the slight hints of deathroot and Adder's Kiss as Flemeth brought the wine to the Warden.

"Oh, I'd love to try a new wine! I'm a connoisseur," she said, grabbing the glass Flemeth had offered the Warden and letting it 'slip' from her grasp to fall crashing to the floor. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry! Let me get another one. What was that wine again? Really, I'm so sorry!" Velanna apologized profusely.

Flemeth's eyes flashed at Velanna with a sinister glare that quickly evaporated. "Very well. Try not to be so clumsy next time," she answered tersely.

"Nevermind, I don't care for any wine right now," the Warden said absent-mindedly, unaware of the life-threatening drama playing out in front of him. His mind was focused on Morrigan. He prayed she was still alive. He felt he would have to act soon, even if he could not get the Templars.

Velanna noticed Flemeth was watching the Warden like a hawk. She thought he might not have the chance to execute his plan. And Flemeth had tried to poison him once tonight already, though she was sure the Warden was unaware of this. So she took it upon herself to create some space and time for him. She grabbed Flemeth's arm as though they were great friends and led her away from the Warden, "Morrigan, you absolutely must share your Tempest spell with me…I have heard how incredibly effective it is. And you will want to hear of my Fireball spell. Anders is after me for it…I can make huge fireballs…wonderful for ogres and broodmothers…" she prattled on as she took Flemeth-Morrigan out of visual range.

Dekker smiled at her cleverness and leapt at the opportunity to implement his plan. He bolted out the door to the Chantry Templar office near the castle, explained to the Templar Commander what he needed, and slipped back into the castle banquet room before Flemeth was even aware he had gone.

He waltzed back up to Velanna and Flemeth, who looked incredibly bored, and said, "So, how are you ladies faring?" He gave Velanna a slight nudge to indicate he was ready. She smiled warmly, relieved he had been able to accomplish the task.

"I think it is time we retired, Warden. We have a big day ahead of us," Flemeth said, hoping to escape the elven mage. Perhaps she could entice the Warden to partake of some poison wine in their room.

"No…I…uh…would like to stay a while longer," he said, glancing casually at the next room. He was waiting for the Templars to arrive and signal him.

Flemeth's eyes narrowed. She had lived long because she was highly sensitive to her surroundings. Something was not right. She glanced casually in the direction the Warden's eyes kept drifting and noticed the reflection of Templar armor in the next room. He knew. The bastard knew! He was trying to trap her. He would die here and now. She would delay no longer!

In the same instant that Flemeth became aware the jig was up, Dekker saw the change in her demeanor and knew the masquerade was over. A vicious sneer took over her beautiful features and she raised her arms.

"Templars!" The words had barely escaped his lips, when he was hit by a bolt of lightning that knocked him across the room. He was stunned and groggy, and struggled to recover his footing.

Velanna had engaged Flemeth. The Templars had poured into the room and were attacking as well.

"Stop! Don't hurt her! For Maker's sake! Don't harm her!" he shouted.

They ceased their assault much to Flemeth's surprise. Why would he care that she was not harmed? She was not Morrigan. He obviously knew that.

Suddenly, the Warden vaulted toward her, tackling her, and pinning her to the ground. "Neutralize her!" he shouted. The Templars cast multiple Neutralization glyphs.

"Morrigan! We have her! It's time!" he shouted.

Flemeth's brow furrowed. What was this nonsense?

There was no answer to the Warden's cry. "Morrigan!" Nothing. He glanced at his ring. It was dark. He ripped open his tunic and pulled the spirit charge out. It, too, held no glow.

Flemeth's eyes widened. She understood now. Spirit charge! Morrigan had stored her essence in a spirit charge? Damn that girl! She had thought the ring to be a simple opal and given it to the fool servant child. He must have retrieved it and…that is why he left so suddenly!

Dekker shouted at Velanna desperately, "Quickly! Perform the ritual! Do it now!"

Flemeth shrieked beneath him. "No! No!" She writhed and struggled and cursed at the Warden, kicking and screaming beneath him.

Velanna murmured the incantation.

Suddenly, Flemeth stopped struggling. Her eyes widened and dulled as a gray, lifeless haze overtook the golden eyes the Warden loved so well. Her once beautiful eyes…the windows of the soul, gave no indication they had ever harbored one. And then, they closed. Dekker was alarmed. He released Morrigan's still body and grabbed the spirit charge. It was cracked, shrivelled, charred. It was utterly destroyed. If Morrigan had lived in it before, she was surely not alive in it now. He realized the spell had worked…but did her soul still live to be transferred back into her body?

He studied her form for a few moments. She drew breath. Her heart beat. But she was unconscious…no, more than unconscious, for he could not revive her. None of them could. None of the mages with their spells and potions. None of the physicians with their medicines. No one could awaken her.

"Morrigan…" he managed weakly, his voice breaking. He took her in his arms and buried his head in her hair unable to hide his feeling.

Velanna lowered her head. They were too late, she thought sadly. She signalled to the others to let the Warden be alone with his sorrow. And they left him to his grief.


	16. Chapter 16

**16.**

"**Blood Ties – The Ties That Bind"**

She will not wake up. Why won't she wake up? She cannot be gone. I will not believe it. But how long can her body last?

It had been three weeks. The Warden had begun to think he'd lost her. He had sunk deeper and deeper into hopelessness and despair. He talked to her everyday as though she could hear him. He had to believe that…he had to believe she was there. That the transfer had worked. Flemeth was gone, surely, and Morrigan's spirit too weak to command her body. He had to believe it. So he stayed in Highever and focused his attentions on her. He spoke to her, held her hand, caressed her face, tried to stay connected with her. He told her that he would wait for her forever if need be. He promised her she would get better, stronger. But he did not know that his promises weren't lies. Every day that passed saw no improvement. And he began to fear she would not return to him. He was beside himself with grief. His friends tried to comfort him, but he was inconsolable.

And then it came to him…a small grain of hope…a tiny kernel. Arl Eamon had been in a deep coma like this two years ago…not for the same reasons, of course, but a coma just the same. Incurable, they said. Hopeless, they said. We've tried everything, they said. But his wife refused to give up hope and sent the Warden and his party in search of Andraste's Ashes, seeking a miracle cure. And they got one. This was different, he realized, but he believed…he had passed the Guardian's tests of faith. There was a chance…maybe…it could help Morrigan, too. He had not slept much in recent weeks and knew he was grasping at straws, but he had to **do** something. She was not getting better on her own. He couldn't stand by idly anymore. It was a chance. He flew to the home of Brother Genitivi.

* * *

"I'm sorry, my friend. You know after everything you've done…for me, for the faith…I would gladly help you if I could, but the truth is they're gone," Brother Genitivi said sadly.

"What! What do you mean they're gone?" the Warden cried in distress.

"The dragon that guarded the site…it scared off anyone who tried to go to collect the Ashes, to worship them. Finally, the Chantry sent soldiers, Templars. But when they got there, the dragon and what was left of her brood and worshippers were gone. And so were the remains of our beloved Andraste," he said bowing his head.

The Warden was devastated. The cult had taken Andraste's Ashes. He thought they had cleaned out the nest, but he had not bothered to be sure…he had only wanted his pinch for Arl Eamon. Maker. That was his chance, long-shot that it was. He slumped into a chair, dejected.

Genitivi went on, "It's a tragedy. Not only for the Chantry, but for all of Thedas. The common man could have known real proof of the Maker and his beloved. It would have been evidence of the Divine." He sighed. "The only thing I was able to salvage were these stored vials of draconic blood they left behind in their haste. I have found them to be of great scientific interest. Their blood does not congeal as ours does. And it is warm to the touch always. We hope to learn more about dragons from their study," he said more to himself than the Warden. He was already absorbed in thought and had forgotten the Warden's presence, when Dekker leaped out of his chair.

"I need some of that blood," he said authoritatively.

Genitivi looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and admiration. "Oh, do you wish to study them as well? Marvelous! Someone to share my interest with," he beamed. "What tests do you intend to perform so we do not overlap our experiments?" the monk asked earnestly.

The Warden took a deep breath, collected all the vials he could carry, and as he was walking out the door, said, "Field tests."

Genitivi's jaw dropped as the door closed behind the Warden.

Dekker did not know how much it would take so he had grabbed as much as he could and headed back to Velanna and Anders to discuss it with them. He would need their help.

* * *

The dragon the cultists claimed to be a risen Andraste had rebuilt her brood and had them take the Ashes to a new lair. Somewhere. Morrigan had told him enough about dragons and their broods to understand that they communicated with…and controlled…their worshippers through the drinking of dragon's blood. The Binding. It created a link. A link he could use to track the dragon to its new lair. If he made a connection with this dragon, he could find her and recover some of the Ashes. The dragon would draw him in.

When he told his mage friends he intended to drink the blood, they were understandably horrified. But when he explained his plan, they were…only slightly less horrified. He intended to find the lair and waltz in with Morrigan, an unconscious high priestess of the cult of Naursul, to be aided by the Ashes. He would tell them that when Morrigan was healed she would join their cult. With a powerful mage at their head and a Grey Warden at their side, they could not be run off again. Of course, when he had healed Morrigan, he would send her back to Amaranthine to the Keep post haste.

He hated the idea of taking her into a dragon's lair again, but he could not leave her behind and hope that he could escape with the Ashes. The burning would cut him down. He had to take her with him and talk his way to the cure. But he was persuasive, and he would be one of them. They would believe his story and somehow, he would gain access.

"But…but what if it doesn't work? Or what if she **is** healed and escapes? You are still bound! You are still their slave!" Anders asked.

The Warden had considered this. He would leave Velanna and Anders at Amaranthine working on duplicating the potion Flemeth had used to free herself and Morrigan from the effects of the dragon's blood. The book the old witch had used was still in her room, mercifully. Hopefully, they would be able to come up with the answer. If they could not, there was Wynne and the Circle mages at Lake Calenhad. **Someone** would be able to repeat the procedure, he was sure. His beloved mabari warhound since childhood, Atlas, would track with him and show the Wardens how to find him when they had the potion. Then they would have to fight their way in, find him quickly, and get him the potion before the dragon destroyed him.

Velanna and Anders looked at each other. It could work…but a lot of things would have to go right. And how often did **that** happen?

Anders said it first…what they were all thinking, "And the madness? You bear the Taint. What effect might it have?"

"I…don't know. But it is a gamble I am willing to take," Dekker said solemnly.

Anders nodded, thinking what must it be like to love someone like that. He found himself envious of their passion…and determined to help his friend regain it. "You have saved my life and called me a brother. You have given me a home and a family of Wardens. I will follow you. Whatever you tell me to do, I will do it, Dekker," he said sincerely.

Velanna glanced at Anders, surprised at his earnest expression of loyalty. She had rarely seen him thus and found herself impressed by it. The elven mage looked at the Warden thinking much the same thing as Anders, but for different reasons. The Warden had been good to her and he was an exceptional human male. "I feel the same. Whatever you ask, I will do," Velanna said.

"Thank you…both. Would you mind giving me a few minutes?" he asked, looking at Morrigan's prostrate form.

They nodded, understanding.

He thought of Morrigan's warning…she had refused to let him do it before...to commit his life as she had been forced to…to ever feel the burning. Morrigan was a mage and able to avoid the insanity that enveloped many of the cultists that drank. He was not, but he would never ask Velanna or Anders to drink. If it was to be done, it was for him to do. He would sentence no one to the burning. And if something went wrong…No. He was no mage, but his will was strong. He prayed he would not fall into madness or she was lost.

And there was the Taint. He had no idea what drinking draconic blood would do to him. Had the darkspawn ever consumed any of the archdemon's blood? He did not know. Morrigan would forbid this, he was sure. But she was not here…not really, he thought, unable to swallow the lump in his throat. He looked at her beautiful sleeping face…at peace for once in her young life…the peace of unconsciousness. Would she ever wake again if he did not do this? Did he care so much more for his own life that he would not suffer this for her? That he would not risk all? If the Ashes of Andraste did not heal her, she was lost to him, and if he drank the blood and could not revive her, he was lost as well.

The Warden watched her steady breathing, thinking of their past, good and bad, and he knew he would do it. He had to. For in his heart he believed she would never wake up on her own. He took her hand. "I am going to do this for you, my love. If you can hear me, do not be angry. I could not leave you like this without trying to help you. I love you, and I am not willing to go through my life without you. I do not know what else to do. It is desperate, I know, but these are desperate times." He leaned down and kissed her tenderly. Then he marched out to the War Room to flesh out plans for the assault.

* * *

The Warden sent for Alistair to come immediately. Dekker would need him to take command at Amaranthine while he was gone and wanted the former Templar to lead the assault on the dragon's lair when the time came. Velanna and Anders were working feverishly on the potion with no success.

The time came. Morrigan was made ready to travel so the Warden could carry her in an ox cart. He said goodbye to all his friends on the chance he would be unable to return.

"Warden, you better not go soddin' crazy on me! I have enough trouble with the escape artist here," Oghren said gruffly, indicating Anders, who rolled his eyes. "I don't want to have to go down there and force you to drink some potion while you're raving about dragons and Andraste and tryin' to take my soddin' head off!" Oghren warned, trying not to let his fear for his friend get the best of him. But he was worried.

Dekker smiled. "I'll do my best to keep sane, my friend. When you come for me I'll try not to be too much trouble," he said. He noted Oghren's troubled look. "You look like you could use a drink, man! Get Oghren some ale!" he shouted.

"By the Stone! You're the finest leader a man could ask for! An ale, yes! That's what I need! All this talk of dragons…it's enough to wet a man's thirst. Heh…heh! You're a good man, Warden. You go take care of your woman. I'll come get you out of trouble when the time is right. You can count on it, by the Stone! No soddin' dragon is gonna stop me!" he boasted.

The Warden smiled. He believed Oghren would come. The dwarf knew no fear. He was valiant, loyal, and rarely sober. But the Warden loved the good-natured sot.

Dekker looked at Alistair. "You know what to do," he said.

"We'll be there," Alistair answered, grasping his friend's arm. "Are you sure?" he asked one more time. He still could not see doing this for the witch.

"Alistair…I love her. I know you do not understand it, and maybe you never will. But I love her…more than I thought possible. She is not who you think she is. If you never give her a chance, if you never stop looking through Templar eyes, you will never see it…you will never believe it. But it is true. I must do this," the Warden said earnestly.

Alistair nodded his acceptance. "Take care, my friend. We will come," he said solemnly.

The Warden did not know how much to drink to give him the connection, so he began to down the vials, one at a time. Velanna supervised, with Anders and the others watching for ill effect. What they would do if there was any, they were unsure. After the seventh vial, he began to feel strange…flushed. But no link. He kept going. Suddenly, after consuming twelve of the vials, he doubled over. His insides were on fire. He cried out in agony. His head swam. His pulse raced. He felt sick. He crumpled to the ground. Velanna was at his side and the others crowded around him, worried he might not live to form the link he so desperately craved. He clenched his teeth as Valruin's cells bonded to his, searing into his chemistry, making him one with the Dragon. He threw his head back to scream, but nothing came out. And then darkness.

* * *

He heard voices…whispering, arguing. Concern, frustration. He opened his eyes. There were gasps.

"Your eyes!"

"They're red as blood!"

"Can you see?"

He sat up. He felt very strange. Warmer. He flexed his hand. He felt stronger.

"Are you alright? Dekker? Are you alright? Can you understand?"

He looked up into their anxious faces, all hovering over him. He stood. "I have to go. I have to follow the link. Come, Atlas," he said to the mabari.

Atlas whined and backed up uncertainly. The hound sensed the difference in his master. The mabari knew the Warden was no longer alone.

"Atlas, come! I need you now, boy. I do not know how long I can maintain my will," he said, grabbing the dog by the collar. "You must help me track so you can return and lead them back," Dekker said, his voice emotionless.

Atlas slunk along beside his master, clearly afraid.

"I will send her back, and you will come," he said, as though it was a forgone conclusion. He left with the mabari and Morrigan in the cart and headed southwest.

The Wardens all looked at each other. To a man and woman, they feared for Dekker. For he was no longer himself.


	17. Chapter 17

**17.**

"**Into the Dragon's Den"**

The Warden could not have pointed out on a map where he was going, but he knew the direction just the same. The beckoning led him. No, it compelled him in a direction and he followed the instinct. It took him past the Circle of Magi at Lake Calenhad, over the Frostback mountains past Orzammar. It took him out of Ferelden altogether into southern Orlais to the Gamordan Peaks, just north of Mont-de-glace and the Sundered Sea. The scenery was striking…craggy, unusual rock formations that would have fascinated him under normal circumstances. But there was nothing normal about his circumstance. He was bound. He was focused on his goal and strangely disinterested in all else around him. And he felt…anger, bordering on rage. Not just at Morrigan's situation. He knew it was from the dragon's blood. He had heard of the increased desire to kill that plagued many of those who consumed it. And he felt it trying to take hold of him. The Warden felt oddly out of control of his emotions and his will. He fought it, for if he let it have him, Morrigan was lost. So he clenched his teeth and pushed on, concentrating on his purpose, ever focused on his end game. It would help him maintain his sanity.

When he spotted the lair…a cave camouflaged so that it was barely visible, he sent Atlas back to the Keep. "Bring them back, boy," he said to his faithful mabari, "I'm counting on you." The hound looked at him soulfully and started to slink away, then turned back to him and licked his hand as if to signify the dog knew his master Dekker was still in this red-eyed mutant somewhere. Then Atlas turned and took off for home. And Dekker began the descent to the cave.

Mercifully, he arrived at the mouth of the cave lair at last. He was greeted by the other cultists warily. Valruin had apparently warned them of his coming. A great roar split the air and the flapping of wings sent snow flying into a blizzard around him. The cultists parted for their Dragon, Valruin, whom they still thought to be Andraste, and she landed in front of the Warden.

"What is the woman doing here? She is not of Us but she wears the robes of a high priestess. Explain," the high dragon said through the link.

"She **is** a high priestess. She worshipped Naursul," the Warden said.

"My mother is slain. I hear her no more," Valruin said sadly.

"Naursul's other high priestess enchanted this woman to steal her body. 'Twas undoubtedly the old witch who killed Naursul. The old woman's soul has been destroyed, but in the process, this priestess was put into a coma from which she cannot awaken. She is a very powerful mage. I believe I can heal her with the Ashes. She will serve the cult well when she is recovered. You need not fear dragon hunters or other interlopers ever again," Dekker said.

Valruin paused in thought. "We have need of a mage. Many of my followers were slain when I was forced to flee Haven, most of my mages with them," she said considering his proposal.

The Warden was relieved she had not recognized them from Haven. But he was not dressed as a Grey Warden now and Morrigan wore the robes of a high priestess.

"Very well. But you will look after her. When she is healed, she will join us," Valruin ordered.

The Warden bowed his head in homage. "I will obey. The blood of the Dragon runs in us. We are one with the Dragon, we **are** the Dragon. The Dragon is our God," He said in a chanting tone.

The cultists around him bowed their heads and murmured the chant with him, "The blood of the Dragon runs in us. We are one with the Dragon, we **are** the Dragon. The Dragon is our God."

"Show him to the Urn" Valruin commanded.

Dekker lifted Morrigan's limp body into his arms and carried her to the altar containing the Ashes. He laid her down and swallowed hard as he took a pinch and gave it to her. Please, Maker! He was surprised to find different emotions coursing through him now…fear, anxiety. He had thought anger was all he had left. He was not sure she was there anymore…that he did not just hold her body in his arms. But he had to believe he had not lost her. He leaned down and pressed his head against hers, closing his eyes. Come back, Morrigan, he thought. Please.

Suddenly, she stirred in his arms. It startled him. He found he was holding his breath. Her eyes fluttered open. The gray haze of death was gone and her captivating golden eyes blinked at him, trying to focus. Dekker turned away and exhaled with relief, his joy matched only by his rising anger. Uncontrollable anger. "Quickly! Get her some water!" he shouted to the cultist who had brought him to the Ashes.

Then he pulled her to him, holding her tightly so she could not see his face. He did not want her to see what he had become.

"Dekker?" Morrigan asked weakly. "Is that you?"

The Warden closed his blood-red eyes, fighting his emotion. "Morrigan, listen to me. There is no time. Are you strong enough to shapeshift? To a bird?" he asked with urgency.

"I…I don't know…I think so…what is happening? My body! I have my body back!" she cried with elation as the realization of her physical form struck her. "Where…?" Morrigan asked, disoriented. He held her so tightly she could not tell where she was. What was going on?

"Listen! You are in the Gamordan Peaks in the far south of Orlais in a cave…the cave of Valruin…." He felt her tense. She gasped. Still, he did not release her. "You must fly out of here, northeast to Vigil's Keep in Amaranthine. They are waiting for you. When you arrive, the Wardens will come back for me. You must go now, before Valruin knows you are awake…before she makes m…please, go now!" he pleaded. Then he turned away and released her.

Morrigan stood unsteadily. She was greatly confused. The last thing she remembered, they were on their way back to Highever to confront Flemeth. And now she was here in…Valruin's lair? She shook her head as though to make sense of things. But her Warden stood only a few feet away, his back to her. The man she loved. She went to him, and placed her hand on his shoulder. She just wanted to…

Dekker threw her hand off him. "Go!" he growled over his shoulder, more angrily than he meant to. "I told you to leave…before they come back! Before you **can't** leave! Do you always have to make everything so hard? Go!" He was fighting the rage now. And it was winning.

She was stunned by his coldness…his anger. A moment ago he held her in his arms and now… he was as a stranger. "Why are you so angry? Come with me now. We will fight our way out of here together…surely no dragon cult can hope to stop us. I will not leave you here. We…" Morrigan stopped. The fear nearly overwhelmed her then as she remembered a similar circumstance not so long ago. She prayed she was wrong when she stepped in front of him. He could not turn away fast enough. She had seen his eyes. She inhaled sharply. "Noooo! Dekker, nooo! You cannot be…how did this happen? You are bound!" she cried, the words sticking in her throat. She could not keep the tears from welling. She knew what that meant, what he would endure…and she was devastated for him.

He grabbed her by the shoulders roughly. "I told you to go! Why did you have to…? Damn you, Morrigan! Morrigan…" he said plaintively as he pulled her into his arms.

"Dekker…" she cried, tears streaming down her face, clutching him to her. "What have you done?"

"I am fighting it, but the Taint…the rage…I do not understand what is happening, but I am losing control. You must go now…if Valruin calls me to stop you…if the others come…they think you are to join us. Please…I love you…please leave now. Do as I ask before it's too late. Morrigan…"

"How can I leave you like this?" she asked him.

"You must. The Wardens are working on a cure like the one Flemeth gave you. They will come for me when you return safely to the Keep and the potion is ready. Atlas will bring them back. It was the only way…please…hurry, I feel I am losing myself," he begged her. He disengaged himself from her.

They looked at each other for a few moments agonized, a thousand unspoken words hanging in the air.

"I know you don't understand. They will explain all when you get to the Keep, but there is no time now. Just know that I love you, that I would do anything for you. Now, please, do not let all that we have done be for nothing. Go, Morrigan," Dekker said firmly.

She gazed at him a moment longer, then kissed him passionately and when she released him raised her arms and with a flash, morphed into a crow. The bird flapped a few times watching him, hovering, as though hesitant to leave, then soared to the roof of the cave and winged its way unnoticed along the tunnels until it burst out into the open sky. After a moment, the crow seemed to decide on a direction and sped northeast, its wings flapping furiously as though it had somewhere important to go.


	18. Chapter 18

**18.**

"**Forging New Alliances - Friends and Lovers"**

Alistair returned to the Keep after patrolling the surrounding countryside of Amaranthine. All was quiet for a change. Too bad, he thought. Alistair was itching for a fight. His apprehension for Dekker was growing and he wanted to take his frustration out on someone.

The guards had told him of the witch's arrival. The sorceress had informed them all that the Warden-Commander was still alive and she and the other Wardens present were discussing plans to rescue him. Not without me, they're not, Alistair thought.

He burst into the Grey Warden War Room immediately directing his sardonic remark to Morrigan. "So, I hear you were your mother's daughter's mother or your mother was her daughter or something like that. It's not as though anyone could tell the difference between the two of you," he jested, but only partially so.

There was silence in the room as everyone looked at Morrigan to see what her reaction would be to the not-so-thinly veiled insult. She paused for a few moments, then responded, "I am equally pleased to see you, Alistair," she replied sarcastically, "but 'tis not the time for such sparring. We need none of your foolishness now. We must discuss the plan."

"What? No repartee? No pointed banter? Ah! I am surrounded by dourness. Come on, Morrigan. Here, witchy-witchy-witchy! Just one line," he pleaded.

"Alistair, I will not engage in a battle of wits with you, for I do not have the year it would take for you to come up with a suitable retort," she said acerbically.

He sighed, "Very well. That will have to do, I suppose. But I miss the good old days. Darkspawn, and darker Morrigan."

"Soddin' grim times, my friend, what with the Warden a prisoner of this cult," Oghren mumbled in his gruff voice.

"Indeed they are, my dwarven comrade, indeed they are," he responded sadly. Then he added a pointed shot at Morrigan. "Hmmph! Sparring was the only good thing about you," Alistair grumbled under his breath, but loudly enough that all could hear.

Morrigan glared at him now, irritated he would not drop his clownish behavior at this solemn time. "Fortunately for me, Dekker disagrees. And it is him we are trying to help now, is it not? Must you be inappropriate even now? Can you not set aside your tomfoolery for a few moments and focus on the task at hand so that we may save him?" she beseeched him angrily.

Her vehement protectiveness of the Warden startled him. "I…I'm sorry. Nerves, you know. Consider me properly chastised. What have you got?" Alistair said, embarrassed she had called him out on his behavior.

"I have thought about it the entire journey back and it **will** work," she said with all determination. "We cannot attack directly or Dekker could be slain by the Dragon," she insisted. "I will not risk it. I can fly in unnoticed, find him and make him take the potion. I will get through to him. He will listen to me, I know it. Even if…if his will…if the madness…" Morrigan could not finish for the lump in her throat. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

The others were silent…they could feel her pain, and in truth, were equally worried. Those who had doubted her sentiment for the Warden were convinced she was sincere. Even Alistair, her most vocal critic, was moved. Morrigan regained control. She needed to stay strong. She could not let her feelings cloud her judgment. She could not let the fatigue drag her down and muddle her thoughts.

She cleared her throat to retake command of her voice. "This is how it must be. Velanna and I will fly overhead and scout the terrain. We will avoid the lookouts and find a suitable approach for the Wardens. I will find a way in that is not being guarded. Then you will wait for my signal to begin your assault," she finished with authority.

The Wardens all nodded in agreement. It was a good plan and it could work. They would make it work.

The others filed out of the War Room to get some sleep, and Morrigan rubbed her eyes, trying to stave off the exhaustion that threatened to set in if she allowed it. "Alistair, I would have a word with you, if you will give me a moment," she asked, unable to keep the tiredness from her voice.

Uh-oh, Alistair thought, here it comes...the nastiness he had been waiting for. But he would not get what he had expected.

Morrigan eyed him for a few seconds before speaking. "We have been at odds from the moment we met…you a former Templar and I an apostate. This made us natural enemies, did it not? But you are the Warden's friend, and I…his lover. For his sake, do you not think we should try to get along? To please Dekker I will make the effort. Will you not do the same, especially now?" Morrigan entreated in a conciliatory fashion.

Alistair was taken aback by this unexpected attempt to make peace. He studied her briefly. "You really **do** love him, don't you? I didn't think it was possible, but I think you do," he said.

"I…he is important to me," she said, faltering. She was not sure she wished to discuss her feelings with Alistair.

"C'mon, say it, saaaaayyyyy iiiiiit," he coaxed, smiling.

Morrigan smiled in spite of herself. "I love him. There. You have heard a cold, cruel Witch of the Wilds, Flemeth's apprentice and capricious former apostate admit her true feelings for your Warden friend. 'Tis what you wished to hear? Did I squirm sufficiently for you? Are you satisfied now?" she asked in mock irritation, arms folded.

Alistair laughed, "Yes, quite satisfied. That wasn't so hard, now was it?"

Morrigan smirked, "Hmmph! Must everything be so…excruciating with you?"

"Why, yes, that is exactly what I am…excruciating. I live to excruciate. If you need any good excruciating done, I'm your man!" he teased.

"'Tis so, truly. For once, I cannot fault your logic. You are indeed the most excruciating man I have ever met," she said, a hint of a smile on her lips. "Well, what shall it be? Are we in agreement? For Dekker?" she asked, her tone softening as she spoke of him.

Alistair smiled and nodded. "For Dekker," he said.

Morrigan breathed a sigh of relief. She knew it grieved Dekker that she and Alistair did not get along. Perhaps if they both made the effort, they could reach some sort of permanent truce. But for now, they must all work together to help him. Dekker was not here to command them, to keep them as a unit, to mitigate the squabbling and the bickering, to arbitrate. His strong leadership had been the glue that held the rag-tag band of misfits together. Now, they must find their own cohesion if they were to be of use to him. And they must do it for Dekker. He was beloved by all of them, and they would do whatever it took to rescue him. "I must go help Velanna and Anders with the potion formula. I think we are getting close," she said, fending off a yawn.

Alistair noted how tired she looked. "It's late. Perhaps you should try to sleep some, and start fresh in the morning," he said, surprised at his own expression of concern for the woman he once wished would fall off the face of the earth.

She gave him a look then…despair, desperation, determination all evident in her eyes. She shook her head. "They **have** him, Alistair. He is bound because of **me**. Because he risked everything to help me…to save me," Morrigan said, the guilt weighing heavily on her. They had told her of the Warden's mad sacrifice…of his bedside vigil and final desperate attempt to find the Ashes and save her. She swallowed hard. "And every moment that goes by strengthens the Dragon's hold on him, increases the risk of the madness…the chance we might not get him back…the same…and there is the unknown effect of the Taint," she said emotionally. Her voice had dropped to barely above a whisper. "From what I know of his reaction, it is unlike any I have seen or heard of. Red eyes? The cold unresponsiveness. His mabari's anxiety. And when I left him, he was suffering greatly, though he tried to hide it from me. He is struggling with the effects, but I fear he is losing ground. I am afraid for him. And the Taint. I know not what it means to combine the blood so. I cannot rest until he is free and safe. My endurance is greater than most humans and I have magically fortified my stamina. I will sleep when I must, but now, I cannot. You are his friend. You understand, do you not?" she asked.

Alistair nodded. "Will…will we be able to reverse the effects of the Binding? You…seem to have retained the physical changes from it. Will he be…always…" he stopped short.

"This is why time is of the essence. My changes are permanent because I was made one with the Dragon when I had lived but nine years. I was made to drink many times after that. They…owned me for many years before Flemeth gave me the potion. But the Warden has only just been bound. I believe the changes to be reversible now, if we reach him in time. But I do not know it to be so. And there is the Taint. I can only pray 'tis something that can be undone…that the effects will be only temporary, and once he is given the potion he will return to normal," she said hopefully.

"Good fortune," he said encouragingly.

Morrigan took a deep breath to strengthen her resolve, nodded, and walked down the hall to join the work on the potion.

Alistair watched her for a few moments. She had changed since he had last seen her. Or perhaps Dekker had been right all along…that underneath all that witchery lived a woman with potential. Perhaps there was hope for her after all, he thought.

* * *

Velanna and Anders were working on the formula for the potion. They spoke little as Anders' humorous comments were usually met with silence or grunts.

Finally, he had given up trying to make conversation. She didn't **seem** angry, but there was only so much talking to himself he was willing to do.

In truth, Velanna had not spoken much because she was trying to concentrate on her work. And because, she was still disturbed by his earlier comment. Finally, she felt compelled to defend herself. She thought it strange that she desired to explain herself to this man, but she did. "The chip on my shoulder hasn't replaced my head," she said matter-of-factly.

"Whoa. She's talking to me. Voluntarily. Check the sky for flying pigs!" Anders replied facetiously.

"Ugh. Forget it," Velanna said, wondering why she had bothered.

Anders apologized, chuckling, "I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself. Tell me about your chip."

"Nevermind. I no longer wish to discuss it. Hmmph! Humans and their irrepressible urges," she mumbled under her breath.

"I **am** irrepressible, by the Maker!" Anders laughed. "And I do get urges," he said more coyly, leaning in. "I'm also irresistible. But you obviously haven't gotten the missive on that yet."

Velanna had difficulty suppressing a smile. "No, in truth, I hadn't heard that. And here all this time, I've been resisting. And so **easily**. What was I thinking? If only I'd heard sooner, I could have fallen into your arms, and you could've had your way with me! Alas!"

"Exactly what I'm saying. So much time wasted," he said sighing in mock wistfulness. Then he perked up. "It's not too late, you know. Now that you know the truth. Alright now, here we go," Anders said, turning to her and opening his arms. "Fall away, I'll catch you," he encouraged.

Velanna looked at him and arched her eyebrows, giving him her best "surely-you-must-be-jesting" look.

Anders dropped his arms. "Waaaaaiiiiiit a minute! You were just being sarcastic, weren't you?" he asked, shaking his head. He sighed, "Sarcasm…from you! So unexpected. I'm disappointed. I thought we had something there for a minute. More's the pity. We would have made beautiful music together," he said, a sparkle in his eye.

"Ha! You would bed me and move on to the next female to be conquered," Velanna retorted. "I am no fool, I know what you are about," she said confidently.

Anders paused. "Do you? I know you think you do, but you are wrong," he said, his handsome smile giving way to a more serious look.

Velanna was taken aback. He was rarely serious…always teasing, always quick to return a flippant comment. "I…what…would you do, then, if I gave you a second glance?" she asked uncertainly, shocked that she had even allowed such a question to pass her lips. Anders smiled at her…but differently than before. It held a sincerity she was unaccustomed to from him.

"I would find out everything there is to know about you. I would have you tell me of your past, your heritage, your feelings. I would know why the chip on your shoulder you swear is not your head is so large. And I would do all that I could to remove it. To take the weight from your heart…and replace it with something…else," he said, his gaze boldly holding hers.

Her lips parted in surprise. She did not know what to make of this. Who was this Anders? "I…you cannot erase centuries of bad blood between our peoples," she said finally, turning away from him.

Anders stepped up behind her, and took her by the shoulders. "No, but I can erase the bad blood between two people. I am not your enemy. I have not been part of the cruelties perpetrated against your people, and I do not hold with them. I do not wish to hurt elves, nor would I hurt one, in particular. Being human does not make me despise elves. It is not a genetic hatred. It is an individual choice. I do not hate you and you do not have to hate me," he murmured in her ear.

Velanna was stunned. And conflicted. And uncertain what she thought anymore. "I…will think on it," she managed.

"Great! That's all I could ask! Now, I am really beat, so I think I'll just trot on off to bed…by myself…alone…without a female companion to be conquered…just so you know," he joked, the twinkle returning to his eye, slipping back into his usual persona. "Night," he added.

And he left grinning ear-to-ear, leaving Velanna standing there dumbfounded.

Anders suddenly poked his head back in the door. "Oops, almost forgot. I found something today I thought you might like. Might help out with the whole heritage thing. It's in my pack there, help yourself. Night, again!" he said, popping out the door before she could even thank him.

Velanna walked to his pack and opened it. Inside, there was a beautiful green leather-bound blank journal with gold inlays of trees on the edges. The Warden and Anders had encouraged her to record her own memories of her elven heritage and make new ones. Now, she thought perhaps she had a volume worthy of such treasured history. She sat down, clutching the book to her, and thought of Anders…of the things he had said. And the gift he had given…it showed a sensitive side she had not known he possessed. But, of course, she had not allowed herself to become acquainted with humans on principle. But maybe she was wrong. Maybe she could not judge all humans based on the actions of a few. The Warden was a good man, she believed…and Anders…perhaps she had misjudged him. She had thought him shallow…incapable of sincerity. She had taken him at face value. But she thought now that was not fair. If **she** was judged only by what she chose to present…there was far more to her than she allowed others to see. A part of herself she had buried. Perhaps it was so with Anders. To protect oneself, one does not always reveal all that there is. But tonight, Anders had revealed a part of himself she did not know existed. He had known this gift would mean a great deal to her. She would have to thank him, and perhaps, show him a side of herself she had refused to share. He had left her with much to think upon.

* * *

Morrigan entered the lab where Velanna was pouring over the book of Dragon's Blood potions Flemeth had left behind. She looked around. "Where's Anders?" she asked.

"He…went him to bed. He was tired...I am fine, though," Velanna assured her.

"How fare you with the potion?" Morrigan asked, looking over the elven mage's notes – what they had tried and the results.

"We have made progress. Using some of the draconic blood samples the Warden did not drink, we have been able to test. When the draconic blood binds to a sample of human blood it turns the human blood black. We have not been able to reverse the process yet, but we are closer, I think," she said.

Morrigan nodded. She picked up some frostrock from the ingredients cabinet, thinking to incorporate a known cold inducing substance to counteract the heat of the dragon cells.

Velanna felt nervous…awkward being alone with Morrigan. She also felt bad for the young sorceress. "You do not need to go, Morrigan. It is a matter for the Grey Wardens now. We will free him. He told me what you went through with the cult for all those years. It must have been terrible for you. If you do not wish to relive that, it is not necessary for you to go. We will follow your plan and get him the potion. I, too, am a shapeshifter. I can take your place," Velanna offered.

"No, tis for me to do. I know the cult mind, how they think, how it works. I know how they will react and when Dekker will be threatened. Even if I did not…I…owe him much. It must be me," Morrigan said firmly.

"I do not believe Dekker would want you to go back in there, if that makes a difference," Velanna said carefully.

She studied her elven counterpart for a few moments and decided she had to know. "You are the one, are you not?" she asked Velanna, her anxiety rising.

Velanna was stunned. Had the Warden told her? "What…what do you mean?" she asked, knowing full well what Morrigan meant.

"You are the one he lay with. Do not deny it, I know 'tis so. He would not have told you of my ordeal if you were not," Morrigan said matter-of-factly. She wanted to maintain a superior tone, but found she could not. It was difficult for her to confront the "other woman" directly like this. More so than she would have thought. But then, she had never felt this way about a man before. Her emotions would not let her retain her cool, smug demeanor. "I…would know the truth of it. Of your…entanglement with Dekker," she said, her unsteady voice betraying her inner turmoil. "I will not lie to you now. I am by nature a jealous woman, but I would hear your words without threat of consequence. 'Tis the truth I seek now, and you need have no fear of me for speaking it," she said softly.

"Would you recognize the truth if you heard it?" Velanna asked. She was uncertain whether she wanted to engage in this conversation, not knowing what the Warden had told her.

"I…do not know. But if you do not speak, perhaps I never will. You…have helped me. You altered the Warden's ring to find me and you helped me escape the spirit charge. For those things I am grateful. But I do not pretend that you did it for me. 'Twas for Dekker. And that is why I must know. Is it…finished? That which was between you?" Morrigan asked weakly.

Velanna was surprised at how vulnerable and drawn the young sorceress seemed at that moment. Minutes before she had been strong and resolute and fiery, detailing her plan to rescue the Warden.

"The truth is this. There was no 'entanglement'. It was but a brief encounter one night. He was troubled…grieved by his constant thoughts of you…and allowed himself to be overcome by alcohol. I…he had been good to me, and I thought to comfort him. When he awoke, he was distraught with guilt for the deed, for his perceived betrayal of you. And he told me everything. That he could never love another, that he had no desire to be with anyone but you. That he had searched for you for months with no success and it was killing him. He told me of the ring you gave to him that allowed you to find him. I was able to reverse the effect for him. I understand where his feeling lies and I regret my action. 'Twas not my intent to cause him greater distress. I do not have any intention toward him, Morrigan. We are but friends. He is yours without reservation. He always has been. His passion is for you. You have nothing to fear from me or any other," she said sincerely.

Morrigan nodded, unable to speak. She felt as though a great weight had been lifted from her heart. Finally, she managed, "You…have my thanks…for your candor."

Velanna studied her. Then she understood. "Ah…I see. You thought perhaps he was perfect. Without flaws. All beings suffer from imperfection. It is the natural condition of things…to strive always for perfection and never achieve it. But, he is exceptional…for a human," she said smiling.

Morrigan's eyes welled with emotion. "Yes, he is," she whispered. So he was not perfect after all, her Warden. But her mistakes were many. In truth, she was far more "human" than he would ever be. And she thought, perhaps she liked this fallible Warden better than the one she had placed on a pedestal. He seemed more accessible now…a man to be loved, not worshipped…and she felt less unworthy of him. It would be alright. But she hoped he would tell her one day. She wanted him to be able to tell her. She wanted to believe everything he said again.

Eight days after Morrigan had returned they came up with an answer. She could not know if it was the same solution Flemeth found, but she felt sure it would work. The frostrock had been the key, for the cold it emanated disintegrated the heat-loving draconic blood cells, leaving the human blood cells intact. The tests they had performed had seen the black blood of the Dragon-bound samples return to the normal deep red of a healthy human with no visible ill effect to the surviving cells. Morrigan knew enough about how the burning worked to feel comfortable with their formula. But there was the matter of side effects…they could not know if the potion would hurt Dekker in other ways.

"It must be tested…" Morrigan started. She had gathered Anders, Velanna, and several other mage Wardens together, ostensibly for a meeting.

Anders responded, "We've tested it thoroughly. The samples all seemed to return to normal. It's the best we can do under the circumstances. We just have to hope the Warden will not be unintentionally harmed by side effects."

"We will not just hope. We will know. I will not subject him to a cure worse than the disease," she said.

Before the Wardens knew what was happening, she had grabbed a beaker of dragon's blood and drank it. They all gasped, leaping to their feet.

"Morrigan!"

"No!"

She felt it begin all over again. Her skin warming. The dread feverish, flushed feeling.

Velanna shouted at her, "You foolish shemlen! What were you thinking?"

"I am testing the potion on a live subject. And since we do not have any cultists to test it on, I…volunteered. Because I know what to expect of the burning and I know what to expect from an antidote. I am not just the logical candidate for this final test. I am the only candidate. In a few hours, the Binding will be complete. I would be grateful if you would lock me up now with a neutralization glyph in place so I may not escape or hurt anyone when the burning begins. Then we will see if the cure works as I expect it to…and we will learn the side effects. It must be safe for Dekker. If it is not, and I…you will continue working on it until it **is** safe for him. I expect that you will assist me or put me down if need be," Morrigan said. Then she nodded to Anders who escorted her to the Keep dungeon before she collapsed.

"Madness," Alistair mumbled, shaking his head.

* * *

During the night, she began to feel it. The burning call of Valruin beckoning for her to return. The searing was rapidly becoming unbearable as Morrigan was unable to respond…to return to the Dragon. She called out to the guard on watch, "Get…Velanna! Quickly!" She fell to her knees in pain.

Within minutes, the elven mage, Anders and Alistair were in the dungeon with the antidote. Morrigan was writhing on the floor by the time they reached her, and they had to hold her down to get the potion down her throat. Finally, she ceased struggling and her breathing slowed. Her skin, which had been so hot it had made them recoil from her initially, cooled. She began to shiver uncontrollably.

"Blankets!" Velanna shouted. She covered Morrigan, and they watched and waited.

After a short time, Morrigan stopped shaking and was able to speak. "I…am alright," she said unsteadily. She stood up and addressed Alistair, "It will work. Prepare the Wardens to attack," she said resolutely.

He nodded. "We can be ready in two days," he said.

Morrigan felt drained…her exhaustion and stress weighing heavily on her now. And the Binding and its cure had taken a toll. She would need rest before the assault. She turned to Velanna. "My thanks. I…think I will retire for a few hours, if that is acceptable. I am…tired," Morrigan said.

"I would suppose you **are**," Alistair said as she walked off.

Anders and Velanna nodded in disbelief.

Alistair tipped his head good night and left a few steps behind Morrigan.

Anders leaned to see around Alistair. "Too bad she's taken," he said absent-mindedly, admiring Morrigan's courage as well as her form as she walked away from them. "Oops…did I say that out loud?" He turned to Velanna. "I meant to say, did I mention that I find tattoos on women incredibly attractive?"

Velanna rolled her eyes, but was unable to keep a half-smile from her face. "Again? You have mentioned it a thousand times!" she sighed, shaking her head.

Anders smiled playfully. "Well, you haven't actually said **no**…you just keep saying that you find most humans physically and morally repugnant. I'm **sure** you don't mean **me**. I'm not most humans. And I'm not **repugnant**…OK, I'm not **physically** repugnant. C'mon….**you're** a mage, **I'm** a mage…**I'm** a mage, **you're** a mage…Think of all we have in common," he teased.

Velanna had to laugh. He was nothing if not persistent. And there was a certain renegade charm to him. She knew a little something about being a loner…about being an outlaw. Perhaps they had more to talk about than she thought. And, in truth, she wanted to see more of what he had kept hidden from her…what other sides of Anders were there? She was intrigued.

"Ha!" Anders shouted, pointing at her. "She laughed. You laughed! I heard it. If there was anybody else here, they would've heard it! Don't try and pretend you didn't," Anders said triumphantly.

"You are not going to give up until I give you a chance, are you?" Velanna said, shaking her head, bemused.

"Just a teensy-weensy chance, that's all I need," he said grinning.

She sighed in mock disgust. "Very well, come on then. Let us get to know each other, sh…Anders," she said, cutting off the word "shemlen" before she said it. If she was going to genuinely give him a chance, she supposed she should not call him that anymore. Then she turned and started walking down the hall, allowing a wry smile to cross her lips that he could not see.

Anders was so stunned she had finally given in, he was rooted to the floor. He had been flirting with her from the moment he met her, but harbored no real expectations of getting anywhere. It had become more of a tease than anything else.

"Well? Are you coming, or are you going to continue to stare at me dumbfounded?" Velanna asked over her shoulder when she realized he had not followed.

Anders shook off his shock and ran to catch up with her, smiling broadly. "I already know lots about you, you know. I know your favorite color's green…mine too!" he chimed in as he caught up with her.

Velanna glanced at him skeptically. "Really…since when?" she asked, recognizing his attempt to ingratiate himself.

"Welllllll, since about 10 seconds ago, to be honest…but it's a fine color! I've always liked it a lot. The leaves and the grass…really, all the best things in life are green, don't you think?" he said, in his most charming manner. "And you know what else I like? Nature. Bet you didn't know that about me. Yes, I'm very fond of all things nature-y…animals, trees…the more nature that's in something, the more I like it! Ser Pounce-a-lot's an animal, and I'm very fond of Ser Pounce-a-lot. See? So many similarities, we're practically the same person," he added, teasing her.

She laughed. He **did** love the kitten the Warden had given him…another unexpected attribute. Perhaps she did not **have** to hate humans…at least not all of them. And this one had certain redeeming qualities, even if he was a scoundrel. She thought then that she rather liked his type of scoundrel. This is going to be very interesting, she thought, as they exited the dungeon.

* * *

Twenty-four days. Twenty-four days since she had last seen him. Morrigan was afraid. Afraid of what she might find when she got to him. Twenty-four days. It was a long time to be bound and stay sane. In her years of bondage, she had seen men go mad in far less time. Few minds were able to withstand the link without damage. And they were almost always mages. She had not told the others this. She had not wished to alarm them. But she was afraid for Dekker. They were close now. It would soon be time to separate…time to find him. Soon she would know.

Eighteen Grey Wardens had made the long march to the Gamordan Peaks. Morrigan knew where the lair was. She also knew they would have spotters. So she and Velanna shapeshifted and left the main party of Wardens behind, soaring over the craggy mountains to scout. They were lucky. There were only two lookouts…and Morrigan had found an obscure pass where the Wardens could approach unnoticed. She had also found a way in for herself. They returned with the encouraging news.

"Don't go getting yourself killed now," Alistair said sincerely.

Morrigan was startled by his encouraging words. They had agreed to make peace for the Warden's sake, but this was more. He was actually being…friendly to her. "I…will not," she said clumsily.

"I mean, Dekker has gone to a lot of trouble to get you back safe and sound and conscious and all. Hate to have to waste all his good efforts," he said, lapsing into his usual cavalier persona.

I am mistaken. 'Tis the same old Alistair, Morrigan thought. She nodded resolutely and lifted her hands to shapeshift.

Alistair was irritated with himself for sounding so damned insincere. Why did he always do that when he was nervous? He grabbed her arm. "Look…I mean, Dekker loves you. **Really** loves you. I'm not sure he could take it if you went in there and got killed trying to rescue him. I…didn't understand it before. I guess I didn't want to see it before, but it's clear you love him, too. You've got a lot of guts going in there like this alone, after what you've been through. I think maybe I was wrong about you. So, be careful, and make sure you both come out of there alive, alright?" he said as seriously as his personality allowed.

She looked at him for a moment, and seeing he was being genuine, allowed herself a half-smile. "My thanks, Alistair. I will bring him back. But if I should fail…you must go in and find him and give him the potion. Do not let him live this life, do not let him suffer as I…" she stopped. Morrigan sought no sympathy for her own tortured past. "You are his friend. If I cannot get to him, it falls to you. Please. I beg you. Do not abandon him to this fate. I…trust you to help him," she beseeched.

He nodded solemnly, "I will not leave him behind. You have my word." Then he smiled at her and said, "For our Warden."

She smiled back. "For our Warden," she responded and raised her arms. The flash nearly blinded Alistair as it reflected off the snow and he raised his hand to shield his eyes. By the time he lowered it, Morrigan was gone. He looked up to see a crow winging its way to the opening she had discovered in the cave roof.

"Luck be with you," Alistair murmured.


	19. Chapter 19

**19.**

"**Warden Unbound"**

There were consequences to letting Morrigan escape as the Warden knew there would be, but he had faked unconsciousness, using a rock to bloody his head. His story was that she had struck him with the rock when he told her she would be joining their cult, and that she had gotten away. He was punished, but only for his stupidity, not for his duplicity. Somehow he sensed there was a big difference between the two disciplinary actions.

* * *

Time passed. He had tried to mark the days secretly to help him stay focused, to help him keep his sanity, believing that both Atlas and Morrigan had made it back to the Keep…believing that it was just a matter of time before they came for him. But every sleep cycle that passed found him less focused, less interested in the outside world, less able to think clearly.

* * *

Time became irrelevant. There was only the care of the brood and the rest cycle. And the anger. The rage was always with him now. He still fought it, but found it to be his constant companion, his will subservient to it. Only when he thought of the woman…the dark-haired sorceress…did he find a measure of solace. He could see her face, but always it slipped away from him before he could name it…before he could touch it.

* * *

His memory was weak now. He was not sure of things…of where he came from, what he had done before. Had he always done this? No…he did not think so. But what had come before did not matter. Only Valruin mattered. Or was it Andraste? But the woman mattered, too. She mattered. How did he know her? He struggled to remember. A surge of feeling washed over him. Warmth...not like the burning…comfort. And something else…how to describe? No matter.

* * *

His job to protect the brood…to fight. Time to rest now. That is all. Rest…protect…rest…protect. All there is.

* * *

Twenty-four days after he freed Morrigan and thirty-one days after he had consumed the blood of Valruin, they came…his Wardens came. They had positioned themselves for the assault and waited only on Morrigan's signal that Dekker had been given the potion and was out of harm's way.

Morrigan had wriggled her crow form into an opening in the cave roof and begun searching for him. As she had done when he was a prisoner in Denerim, she used the ring she had given him to track the Warden through the complex maze of tunnels that comprised Valruin's lair. She soared silently above the heads of the cultists and the brood looking for him, her apprehension growing with every passing second she did not see him. Finally, she spotted him. It was dark, and she thought his hair had grown and he now carried a full beard where once there was only shadow, but that was to be expected. All base cultists were unkempt. The dragon did not wish time spent on vanity…only on the caring for the brood. In spite of the dim lighting, she knew it was him. When she approached, she saw the ring she had given him begin to glow faintly. She circled high above until she found a place to perch where she could watch in shadow, until she saw an opportunity.

The Warden appeared to be a guard of some sort, armed with a sword, but no armor or shield. He could be hurt if he was caught up in a conflict. She would have to do this carefully.

He stood in an archway with another man protecting the entrance to one of the tunnels. But there was no one else around. Finally, the Warden and his fellow guard spoke, and the other man walked away. Morrigan's heart beat faster. This was her chance! She swooped down beside him and returned to her human form.

"Dekker! It's me!" she whispered in the dark. Then she threw her arms around his neck. In her excitement, it did not occur to her that he had not returned her embrace. She released him and grasped his hand. "Come quickly!" she whispered, pulling him down the tunnel toward the nearest exit which was, fortunately, not far. They had only taken two steps when they passed a torch on the wall and light flooded his face. He stopped abruptly and she turned back to see why. Morrigan gasped. He was corrupted, wild-eyed from the Taint and dragon's blood. He showed no sign of recognition and his red eyes were filled with rage.

"No! Dekker, nooo…" she cried out, devastated. He grabbed her, pinning her arms behind her back.

"Intruder!" he called out to the brood.

Morrigan was not sure what to do. She didn't want to hurt him. In truth, she had not expected him to turn on her, to seize her like this. She had to get him the potion.

In seconds, others arrived and had surrounded her, ripping the bag of potions away from her. Morrigan's mind raced. "Dekker, listen to me! I love you! Remember! Please try to remember me!" she pleaded with him.

Suddenly, she felt a heavy hand strike her face, knocking her to her knees. She tasted the blood that trickled from the corner of her mouth. She looked up to see the Warden's face. He winced, and she saw a spark of recognition…of empathy…of struggle. Then she turned to see where the blow had come from.

"You! You were given the chance to join us…a high priestess! To join the exalted cult of Andraste and you fled! Andraste gave you back your life and you refused to dedicate your life to her in return. You will pay for your sacrilege…" the man said. He was dressed in the familiar red and black robes of the high priest. The man closed his eyes in communion with Valruin, murmuring his assent. Morrigan knew he was receiving his instruction from the dragon. For many years, she had been the one to hear the commands. She knew.

"For your treachery, you will pay the ultimate price. There will be no more betrayal. Andraste has spoken. It is the will of the Dragon," he said ominously.

"So sayeth the Dragon," the cultists murmured.

Then the man turned to the Warden. Dekker's face revealed his inner turmoil. "**You** brought her here. You cured her with the promise of her conversion. You will show your loyalty. You will make it right. End her now," the high priest said. Two of the cultists grabbed her arms and pushed her down so he could behead her.

The Warden stood over her with his sword. Valruin's instructions were clear. Kill the traitor. He raised the sword slowly…hesitantly. He could not resist…must not resist. But she was the dark-haired woman…the one that mattered. He had to think…had to remember. She was the one that brought feeling…feeling undescribed.

Morrigan was on her knees looking at him through tear-filled eyes. His face was a terrible mask of rage and fear and agony. "It is alright, Dekker. I know the fire in your veins. I understand, you cannot resist. And the Taint has made you succumb to the madness. I am…too late. Forgive me. Do what you must, but know that I am grateful for everything you have done for me, and for our time together. I love you, my Warden, and when you taste freedom again, know too, that I forgive you for what you could not prevent." She bowed her head and closed her eyes, waiting for the feel of his blade on her neck.

"Slay her now!" he heard Valruin demand.

"What are you waiting for?" the high priest asked.

The cultists chanted repeatedly, "The blood of the Dragon runs in us. We are one with the Dragon, we **are** the Dragon. The Dragon is our God."

The Warden brought the sword up. His hands were trembling. Sweat began to break out on his brow. She was important…the dark-haired woman…in the life before. She was important to **him**. She mattered…more than others…more than any. He didn't want to…but Valruin ordered…but it was the One…the One that mattered most.

Morrigan waited. But nothing happened. Finally she looked up at him, eyes glistening. "Dekker..."

The Warden was struggling mightily against the burning he felt now and the Taint that drove his rage.

"Kill her!" Valruin practically screeched in his head.

Her name…he needed her name…the One that mattered most…to remember…her name. The unnamed One. "Your…name..." he managed through gritted teeth, the burning searing his insides now. "Your name…" he said again.

A single tear rolled down her cheek as she spoke, "Morrigan. My name is Morrigan."

The undescribed feeling raced through him again at the sound of her name, at the sight of her grief. And the urge to protect overwhelmed him, but it was not Valruin he was compelled to protect. He cried out in agony, "Noooooo!" And he began to swing the sword wildly at the cultists around him, cutting down eight of them before the burning filled him to crippling, forcing him to stop his attack.

Morrigan jumped up in the chaos, the men that held her down the first to die in the Warden's wild flailing. She instantly discharged a withering cold arc of frost, followed by a lightning storm. In the confusion, she grabbed her satchel with the potions, took his hand and pulled him, staggering, towards the cave entrance. He fell to his knees after they had only traveled a short distance and collapsed, his back against the cave wall, unable to withstand the pain any longer. He was delirious now, his head tossing back and forth, moaning. She grabbed one of the potions, lifted his chin, and poured it down his throat. "Drink this, Dekker. It will end the burning," she promised. She could see daylight in the near distance. They were close.

The cultists were in pursuit now, in large numbers. They had been called by Valruin, she was sure. Morrigan braced herself for the onslaught, standing over him to defend him until the burning stopped and he could move again. She was fortunate the tunnel was narrow here and she could use the tight space as a funnel to thin their numbers. She paralyzed some and made others sleep. She turned some against the others and disoriented more. She caged the more powerful in force fields, crushing the few mages that remained in the cult. She sent them fire and ice and lightning while she downed lyrium potions to maintain her mana. She unleashed the full fury of her considerable power on them, keeping them at bay, while the Warden's body reacted to the cure. Flemeth had been right. Morrigan was a formidable opponent, indeed. Finally, she heard him speak her name.

"Morrigan?" Dekker managed weakly, pulling himself to his feet.

She spoke over her shoulder to him, still hurling spells of every type, "Can you walk?"

He nodded, "I...think so."

She raised her arms and sent a huge fireball at the oncoming horde, knocking them down and setting some ablaze. Then she grabbed the Warden, wrapping her arm around his waist and helping him move quickly to the mouth of the cave.

The Warden stumbled out into the snow outside the cave entrance and fell to the ground shivering, oblivious to what was going on around him. Morrigan issued a column of flame into the sky, signaling the Wardens to attack. They swooped down, Alistair and Atlas in the lead, with Velanna, Anders, and Oghren just behind. The others charged in. Morrigan stayed at Dekker's side. If any of the brood made it past the Wardens, they would not make it past her. No one would harm **her** Warden.

She pulled out the blankets she had brought and covered his shivering body, knowing he would feel the cold tenfold now. She cradled him in her arms trying to warm him as the chills racked him. She could hear the fighting going on within the lair, the shouts of the Wardens as they engaged the brood. But she was focused on the Warden in her arms.

Finally, the sounds of battle died down. And then a great screeching filled the air. Morrigan looked up to see Valruin escape, flying high up into the clouds and away to build a new lair and a new brood. The Wardens had been victorious, she thought with great satisfaction. One cultist managed to escape the conflict and made it to the cave mouth. He smiled with relief, grabbing his legs, trying to catch his wind. But when he looked up, he saw Morrigan on her knees holding the Warden's head in her lap. She glared at him and raised her arms threateningly. His eyes grew wide and he turned to run back into the cave. Morrigan laughed. Let the Wardens have him. I have what I came for, she thought, caressing Dekker's bearded face.

Morrigan heard the clanking sound of men in armor approaching. Atlas came bounding out of the lair at a gallop. The Wardens poured out of the cave and crowded around her, all anxious to see if their friend and commander lived. She saw Oghren and Velanna, Anders, and Alistair and she knew relief. They all had made it.

"Well done, Wardens!" Alistair said, "We didn't lose a single man or woman." A cheer erupted from the eighteen, their weapons and staffs thrust towards the sky.

"My thanks…all of you," Morrigan said. Then she leaned in to the Warden's ear, resting her head against his, and whispered, "It's alright now, Dekker. Everything will be alright."

All eighteen of the brave Grey Wardens who went in to rescue their leader accompanied him back down the mountain, back towards Ferelden, to Amaranthine and Vigil's Keep.


	20. Chapter 20

**20.**

"**Warden Rebound"**

The Warden's recovery was more difficult than Morrigan's…perhaps because she was a mage, perhaps because her potion was not the same as Flemeth's, perhaps because of the Taint. She thought maybe her potion was more abrupt, harsher than Flemeth's, and the sudden destruction of the dragon's cells might have been a shock to his system. She had taken it within hours after she drank the blood and had recovered fairly quickly, but it had been a month for him…he was more tightly bound.

Morrigan did not know the reason for his slow recovery, but she worried for him. Every night they had camped, they had kept a roaring fire burning and she had pulled him close, trying to warm him. When he opened his eyes and saw her, he would mumble something she didn't understand about 'the One that matters' before drifting back into unconsciousness. It was hours next to the flames before his body would calm enough to sleep, before the shivering would cease. And then they would break camp to continue their journey, and his discomfort would begin anew. He was still weak…in and out of consciousness when they arrived at the Keep a week later.

Mercifully, his eyes had begun to clear. He looked less like a demon now and more like Oghren after one of his binges…more bloodshot than bloody. His rage seemed to be fading as well, Morrigan thought gratefully. In his conscious moments, he seemed less angry, though still disoriented, still unsure of his identity, of his whereabouts, of the faces around him. Morrigan was the only one he seemed to relax around…that he seemed to trust, even in his confusion.

Morrigan and Atlas stayed by his side during his convalescence, sleeping when he did, watching over him, caring for his needs. This mutual concern for Dekker strengthened the strange bond between shapeshifter and animal that they already possessed. "He will be alright, Atlas, this will pass," Morrigan said softly to the mabari, giving him one of his favorite herb treats and scratching him absent-mindedly between the ears. She was not sure if she had just lied to the hound, but she wanted to believe her words so she said them out loud. Atlas whined quietly and placed his head on the Warden's bed to keep vigil.

The Warden's body recovered more quickly than his mind. The madness was gone but the damage remained. He awoke one day, some two weeks after his return, as if from a long and groggy dream that he could not recall. He saw Morrigan sitting next to him, slumped onto his bed, sleeping an exhausted sleep, her head resting on his arm.

His stirrings made her head snap up, wide awake. "Dekker?" she asked tentatively. He seemed more awake, more alert than she had yet seen him.

"Morrigan?" he asked uncertainly.

She offered him a brilliant smile. He remembered her!

Maker, she was beautiful. "I…you said your name was Morrigan?" he asked, hoping for clarification.

Morrigan's face fell. She had thought…

"You are the One…I think…I…you are…important to me?" he stammered, not knowing how to phrase his words…to find out who she was and why she was the only one he felt any connection to.

He thought she would cry then. Tears welled in her eyes, and though she struggled not to release them, he was not sure she would win the battle. "I…am sorry. I did not wish to upset you. I…cannot…my memories are…vague…confused. But…when I was serving Valruin…always I saw your face…in my mind. And I knew somehow that you mattered to me…that you were important. Is it not so?" Dekker asked her gently.

She nodded, unable to speak for the emotion rising in her.

Dekker gazed at her. Not a sister. That was not the sweeping emotion he had felt when he thought of her. "You are…my wife?" he asked tentatively.

Morrigan swallowed hard, and shook her head.

"My lover then…" he said with certainty, pinning down the feeling and the relationship at the same time.

Morrigan paused before answering, collecting herself. It was not his fault he could not remember. All that he had suffered was because he loved her, because he was willing to risk everything for her. She would not make things more difficult for him because she could not reign in her feelings. "Yes," she managed finally.

Dekker sighed with relief. So, that was one thing he knew…that this woman…the dark-haired witch that haunted his thoughts when he was with the cult…was his lover. It was why he had not been able to erase her from his mind…why he had not been able to slay her in spite of Valruin's orders and the subsequent burning. She was truly the One that mattered most. Perhaps she would help him then. "Would you…help me? To remember? I know it is much to ask, but…"

"I would be grateful if you allowed me to," she said, smiling vulnerably.

Dekker smiled back.

Atlas whined, pushing his nose up under Dekker's hand, startling him.

"Forgive me, Atlas. Dekker, this is your mabari hound since childhood. Faithful, intelligent, courageous, and an excellent fighter," Morrigan said.

Atlas barked and jumped, spinning and landing in a playful crouch. Dekker laughed. "Oho, how could I forget **you**?" he asked, amused at the dog's antics. Atlas issued a series of woofs, as if to chastise the Warden for doing so. Dekker grinned and patted Atlas on the head vigorously. Then he felt Morrigan take his other hand in hers, and he turned to face her, his smile softening at the look in her eyes.

"You are Dekker Cousland, Teyrn of Highever and the Arl of Amaranthine, son of Bryce and Eleanor Cousland, Commander of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, friend and advisor to Queen Anora, and…though you hate the term…you are also called the 'Hero of Ferelden' for having rallied the entire country of Ferelden to fight together and defeat the darkspawn and for slaying the archdemon of the latest Blight," Morrigan said proudly.

Dekker was startled. "Me? I am…I did…all that? It's like I'm some kind of God or something…" he said in jest.

Morrigan looked at him with admiration, "**I** always thought so," she said softly.

He looked at her smiling, expecting her face to reflect the joke he was sure she was making. But what he saw was complete sincerity, a burning passion in her eyes. The smile ran away from his face and he wished desperately at that moment he could remember her…what they had felt for each other. Perhaps…in time…

It distressed her greatly that he remembered so little. She had not struggled with memory loss, but she had not begun the descent into madness as he had, and she did not bear the Taint. He seemed to know she was important to him, but he could not remember why or even how he knew her. She could only pray it would come back to him over time. 

* * *

Weeks passed, and except for vague remembrances and familiarities, the Warden made little progress. Alistair had taken over command of the Grey Wardens, though he hoped it would only be temporary. Morrigan was with Dekker always, guiding him, helping him to understand his role in things, except when she sensed he needed to be alone. She had told him everything of his past as she knew it, and Alistair, Oghren, Anders, and Velanna filled in what she did not know of his history. He had spent time with friends he had known and stories were told to him of his exploits, but he only nodded graciously to be polite, not in acknowledgment of any real memory of them. Anora had come to Amaranthine especially to see him, bringing in her best physicians to consult, but they only shrugged their shoulders in bewilderment, baffled by his unique situation. Frustration was becoming second nature to the Warden and, in truth, to Morrigan as well. She feared he was becoming overwhelmed with information and not gaining cognizance from it.

Morrigan began to get discouraged. She had vowed not to pressure him, but she was not a patient woman…and this was nothing if not an exercise in patience. He did not know her, not really. The Warden seemed to have retained his skills, and basic functioning, but he couldn't remember anything else. Anything personal. He had occasional images swim through his head, misty and pale and unrevealing, but nothing concrete. But every time she found herself becoming frustrated, she reminded herself that if it was **she** in this position…**she** who could remember nothing, his patience would be infinite. And so she would draw a deep breath and start anew.

She began to think it was not enough to tell him of things. He needed visual and aural reminders of his past. She thought perhaps it was necessary to take him to those places he had been, to those places where his memories might be stirred by things that had transpired. There were many such places in his eventful life.

For several weeks they traveled in search of his memory. She took him to Highever, to his Cousland family estate, to Denerim where he slew the archdemon, to Lake Calenhad and Orzammar. He showed flashes of recognition, but nothing dramatic. Then, she thought that perhaps she had to go south. That perhaps his strongest memories were of her. And she set out for her Korcari Wilds. She took him to Ostagar, to the Tower of Ishal, and then to Flemeth's hut, long since abandoned, its destiny for dust and cobwebs fulfilled. He did not remember.

Morrigan felt she could avoid it no longer. She had not wanted to go back **there**…not ever. So much misery there. But, for him, it was not so. It was where he had found her again, if not as he expected. It was on that beach she had admitted her love for him. Perhaps it was a strong enough memory to bring everything back. It was worth the long trip and the unpleasant memories for her if it succeeded in its purpose. They continued south to the coast, toward the burned out manor house and the abandoned lair of Naursul.

There was nothing but charred remains, of course, when they arrived on the bluff. She took his hand and led him down the path onto the beach. The lair itself had been sealed by debris, from Flemeth's spell-induced earthquake and the fire that had destroyed the mansion. It was just as well, Morrigan thought. She had no desire to go back into the caves. Morrigan explained everything that had taken place there as they stood on the beach, but he shook his head sadly. There was no spark of recognition in his eyes. He was silent.

Morrigan turned away from him to hide her disappointment and sighed deeply. She did not know what else to do. She had taken him all over Ferelden trying to ignite his memories, but to no avail. She looked out over the Frozen Seas. The sea had given her a few moments peace when she had lived here. The gentle rolling of the waves, the repetitive, but relaxing sound of the surf crashing on the shore. It was in stark contrast to the dark, dank, musty cave just a few feet away. She had greatly valued those moments when she could step away from her high priestess duties and go out onto the beach…when she could stare out over the water, letting her mind drift away, letting her hair blow free in the unpredictable breeze. For a few brief moments she could lose herself to the truth of it, to the fact that she was a captive. Of course, she had no privacy…there was always an armed escort sent out to protect her. She was after all high priestess to Naursul. But she always tuned them out, and reveled in her imagined solitude.

Morrigan closed her eyes and lifted her chin skyward, feeling the warmth of the sun beat down on her face…different this time, without the dragon blood running through her veins, but more welcome in its heat. She reached up and let her hair down to feel the wind whip through it again.

It was as though he had been struck. Seeing her standing on the beach, looking out over the water, the wind tossing her hair about wildly…a memory came back to him of another time. It was a strong memory with a strong emotion attached to it. A genuine memory, not something he had been told about. It was farther away before, looking down on her from the bluff. She had worn a black and red robe then, but she looked the same as now…pensive…sad. He remembered being entranced by the vision of her. Maker. A surge of an old familiar feeling rushed through him. Suddenly, his head was filled with images and sounds. The memories came flooding back. The Warden grabbed his head as if to control the flow, but it was over before he knew it. And he remembered. He came up behind her, overwhelmed with love for her…with relief that it was finally over. He slid his arm around her waist, pulling her to him, clutching her tightly. "Morrigan," he whispered into her hair.

She was stunned. He had not touched her since the cave of Valruin and then, not like this. He nuzzled her neck. "Dekker?" she asked tentatively.

"I remember…everything…everything…Morrigan…I love you," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion.

Her eyes welled with relief. She turned to face him. "Dekker…" she started, searching his eyes. At long last, she saw him there…the man she knew…the man she loved…the man who loved her. She caressed his face, bringing his lips to hers.

"I've missed you," she murmured, before kissing him deeply. 

* * *

They had returned to Vigil's Keep earlier in the day, greeted warmly by the Wardens…Velanna among them. And Dekker felt the need to bare his soul to Morrigan…to finally reveal the truth to her. "Morrigan…there is something…I…should've told you before…" Dekker started uneasily.

She smiled slightly. I knew he would tell me. He believes in the truth.

"I…you must know how much I love you…that I have always loved you…but…after you left, I was…one night I…" he struggled mightily to admit to his perceived wrong…to tell her in such a way that he did not hurt her any more than he had to.

His struggle pained her so that she decided to end it. It was more important to her at that moment to ease his burden than to hear his confession. She knew why. She knew the grief she had caused him. "It is alright, Dekker, I know of Velanna," she said softly.

"You…you know?" he asked, dumbfounded. She did not seem angry…or even hurt. "How…?"

"I suspected Velanna was the one and I approached her on the matter. She told me everything, though she did not actually reveal the deed to me initially. I knew it the moment you lied to me of it on the way to Cumberland…you are not skilled at deception, my love…'tis something I would avoid in future, were I you. Should you have need of such talents, I will be the one to put forth the lie. Though…I…would be grateful if there were no need of such skills between **us**. I…have come to believe that there should be only truth between us. I have told you lies for which I am grieved, but I wish to make amends. I will make the effort, and I would ask that you do the same. I would know this complete trust you have spoken of, and I wish for you to know it also," Morrigan said, genuinely.

The Warden dropped his head in shame. "I…should not have lied to you, but I wished to tell you when I could look into your eyes, and you would know the truth of my words…of my regret," he said.

"I do not fault you for being with someone else when I had abandoned you…but I would know if it is as Velanna said. The fact that you lied of it gives me pause. There is one thing I must know and then we will never speak of it again. Do you…have feelings for her?" Morrigan asked tentatively.

Dekker gazed at her intensely, and this time he did not hesitate. He did not select his words. "No. I love **you** and it has always been only you. She was there when I was most grieved by your absence and I…gave in to my need," he said solemnly.

Morrigan returned his gaze and satisfied by his answer, said, "Then it is done. I have made many mistakes and you have forgiven them all, so we will speak no more on it." Then she smiled wickedly, and added playfully, "But…lie to me again and I shall turn you into a cellar rat and let Atlas chase you for sport."

He grinned ear-to-ear, the burden he had carried these many months, lifted from his shoulders by his 'One that mattered most'.

Morrigan threw her arms about his neck and gave him a mischievous look.

"So…now that I know there is no other for you, when is this wedding to take place? Tomorrow? Perhaps the next day? You are well enough, I think. 'Tis a Binding of a different sort, but one to which I am agreeable," Morrigan said coyly.

He smiled broadly. "You want to marry me, too? So quickly? Maker, you are the most impatient woman I have ever met…both of you," he teased, referring to Flemeth's recent occupation and insistence on an immediate wedding.

"What?! You were willing to marry my …**Flemeth**. I see no reason you should not be equally as eager, if not more so, to marry **me**. Am I not more fetching than she? More desirable? Surely you can tell the difference, can you not, my Warden?" Morrigan said impishly, knowing the discomfort she would cause him.

His jaw dropped and his eyes widened. This was most definitely dangerous territory for him now. He must answer swiftly and carefully, without hesitation or contemplation. He took her in his arms. "It is said that there are none more beautiful or more desirable in all of Thedas than my Morrigan. Do you not think that I can tell a rotted weed from a rose in bloom… a rancorous imitation in Morrigan-guise from my beloved, sweet-tempered flower?" he said with syrup in his voice and a sparkle of mischief in his eyes.

Morrigan laughed, "Well done, my Warden! Your wits have truly returned, I see. But do you not think you laid the compliments on rather thickly? I have been called many things, but sweet-tempered flower does not strike my recollection. Perhaps you wish for some return benefit?"

"I can think of a few things, but I'll save that conversation for later," he answered, a brilliant smile on his face.

She looked at him seriously then, eying him for his reactions. "I...wish to be forthright with you now. If we are to be wed, do not expect that I will make my will subservient to yours. I will walk beside you, not on your leash," she declared.

"I expect no such thing. Your will is the strongest of any woman I've ever met. It is something I admire. I have no wish to harness it," Dekker promised.

She cocked her head slightly. "Good. And do not think that I will be a wife who fawns and dotes and caters to your every whim. My days of bondage are over. I will do that which you ask, if it pleases me to do so, or if I think it necessary, but I will be no man's servant. You understand, do you not?" Morrigan said matter-of-factly.

"I have no wish for you to serve me. I will **ask** of you, not order you, and I will respect your wishes in all things, even if we do not agree. We will be equal partners and we will find ways to work out our differences. It will be as it has always been between us. I have no desire to quell the fire in you. It is neither my intent nor my desire to change you. I love you as you are," he assured her sincerely.

Morrigan looked at him emotionally with a mix of relief and gratitude.

Dekker gave her a look then, and sighed. "So many demands…I think you are going to be a lot of work," he said smiling mischievously.

She smiled back. "I cannot say 'tis not true. I will try your patience and give you pause on more than one occasion, for I am capricious in nature, and stubborn in my ways when I believe I am right…which is always," she added playfully.

Dekker's eyebrows rose.

Morrigan laughed and put her arms around his neck. Then the smile disappeared, replaced with an earnest look. "But I will always love you completely, my Warden. I will be by your side in all things and I will do all that I can to be well worth the trouble I give you. This, I promise," she whispered emotionally, her eyes shining. Then she kissed him.

"Do you…still wish to tie yourself to me, then? Even with my 'demands'?" she asked tentatively, releasing him from her grasp.

"Do you not think that I love you hopelessly? Do you not think I would marry you yesterday if I could?" he murmured emotionally.

"Then perhaps you should ask me," Morrigan said softly.

It startled him to realize she wanted him to propose.

"That…is how it should be, is it not?" she said uncertainly, allowing the vulnerable innocent to slip through.

"That's exactly how it should be…wait!" he said and he ran to his dresser and rummaged until he found the ring he had originally picked out for her. Then he returned to her and fell to one knee. "Morrigan, I love you. Tell me you want to be bound to me as I am bound to you. I will do everything in my power to make you happy and I will love you the rest of my life," he said, his eyes searing into hers.

Morrigan found she could not speak then. She had not expected his words to be so…she was overcome.

"I…want nothing more, my Warden…than to be with you," she managed awkwardly.

Dekker smiled joyously and placed the ring on her finger. "I…picked it out for you, and tried to give this to you before…when…Flemeth hated it, and bought her own," he said clumsily. "If…you don't like it…"

Morrigan had been looking at the ring. She stopped him. "'Tis beautiful, truly. I will wear it always," she said smiling, her eyes glistening. Then she put her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately.

When she released him from her embrace, he whispered, "Tomorrow."

"That will be soon enough, I think, my Warden," she murmured into his lips and kissed him again.

THE END

_Author's note: Hope you enjoyed it! If so, let me know your final thoughts about the overall story!_


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